Pictures & Frames
by escapistone
Summary: An Amnesia story where A fellow Police Officer kills a man and frames Steve for it Chapter 18 up ***COMPLETE*** Steve is finally home & happy
1. Default Chapter

 Alright, This disclaimer goes for this chapter and all following it.

I do not own this television series, the scripts, or the characters. I am not making any money off of this. CBS, PAX, Paramount etc own the rights. I am just doing this for fun. Got that?

Secondly, this is my first DM fic, so please be kind. BTW If the plot is transparent, don't mind it. I'm really not attempting to disguise anything.

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Steve looked at his purchase with far too much satisfaction. It would truly be just revenge on the prank Jesse had pulled on him. Really, paying his barber to dye his hair green was childish, even for Jesse. So, when Jesse had conned him into purchasing a new frame for a photo that _Jesse_ had broken the frame on, Steve thought it high time to wreak revenge.

A trip down to a local photography shop earlier in the week had been just the ticket. In a box of just arrived frames, there was a very large, very heavy, very ugly mirrored picture frame with gold gilding. It was hideous, and Jesse paid full price for it.

It was a nice picture, much too nice for the frame Steve had it put in. It was a picture of the four of them standing around after yet another successful case. One which, miraculously, none of them had gotten shot/beaten/maimed/kidnapped on. 

With a quick stride he tracked down Jesse in the doctor's lounge having coffee with Amanda and his Dad. Jesse looked up from his position in a chair.

"Hey, you got it done already. Let me see it."

Obligingly, Steve handed the brown paper, wrapped parcel over to its new owner. Jesse ripped enthusiastically into the package.

"Its…"

"Hideous?" Amanda remarked.

"I would have gone for distasteful, myself." Mark said as he tried desperately to hide his smile.

Before Jesse could say something appropriately scathing, Steve's phone went off.

"Sloan."

"Yeah…"

"Yeah…"

"I'll be right there."

He looked over at the rest of the gang.

"We've got a homicide down by the pier. I've gotta go down and check it out. I'll see you later. Enjoy the frame Jesse."

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Steve frowned as the body was loaded up and taken to the ambulance. The man, Homer Garlin, was a fencer for stolen property for a local crime family. Steve had just seen him two weeks ago when he was working on another case. The man had seemed tired of his life of crime. He'd talked about reforming. He'd told Steve that he had some information about some of the higher ups in the organization. Apparently, those "higher ups" had found out and killed him.

"You okay Lieutenant?" A bubbly voice buzzed in his ear. 

"I'm fine." Steve eyed the latest member of the homicide team. Jackson Peters was fairly good looking. He was three inches shorter than Steve with black hair and brown eyes, and he was more annoying than Jesse, CJ, and Dion on simultaneous sugar highs. Steve had been assigned to "break him in" while his partner was on vacation.

"Too bad about that guy. Do you think his family did him in?"

"We won't be able to know until the autopsy comes back. Look, why don't you finish up here, and I'll go work on some paper work back at the station. There's not much else I can do here right now."

"Sure thing Lieutenant." 

Gritting his teeth, Steve went back to his truck. For once, he was thankful that he had paper work to do.

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The next night Steve was just cleaning up the counter at Bob's when Amanda came in. She handed him a folder.

"Here's the autopsy report for Homer Garlin."

"That was fast." Jesse commented from his place on a stool.

"Actually, it was a bit slow coming back, but I needed to have something checked out. Its been slow in pathology the last few days."

Steve flipped through the pages of the report and stopped. "This say what I think it does?"

Amanda nodded. "The bullets that killed Homer are consistent with those of a police handgun. Of course, we can't be certain that it was a police officer that shot him or even if it was a police sidearm."

Jesse sighed. "That isn't exactly very good news. I mean, what if there's a cop running around playing vigilante?"

"If it was a cop, Jesse, he or she is probably working for Homer's crime family." Steve remarked from behind the counter. He shook his head and continued. "In any case, I don't think this is going to be easy."

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Two weeks later, Steve was more confused and clueless than he was when he started. There had been too many dead ends. The only good thing was that Cheryl had come back from her vacation, relieving him from babysitting Jackson, except when he had to work on Homer's case. 

All of his late night talks with his Dad, all of Jesse's witty comments, and all of Amanda's input had succeeded in gaining him nothing but a group of angry crime syndicate members. The one person who even hinted at knowing about a police officer and a gun had shown up missing when he went to talk to him that morning. 

Of course, it hadn't helped the situation that on his way back from the secluded "secret" meeting spot his truck had broken down. He had to hike two miles to the nearest house to get some coolant for his overheated radiator.

Although he had called to say he was going to be late, the Chief was still miffed at him. After a day of chasing up assignments, he'd gotten back to the station to find "Important Documents" that he needed to do ASAP. Shaking off Cheryl's offer to help, he had sent her home and stared at his documents. Groaning at all the work he had to do, he called home and left a message on the machine that he wouldn't be home for supper. At least, he thought, its Jesse's night to work at Bob's.

Two hours later, he was staring at the information he'd gathered on the Homer Garlin murder. He had the nagging feeling that he was missing something important. He had files of information, but no solution, feasible or otherwise. Disgusted with himself, he shoved the files into a stack and started filling out the reports the chief had given him to do.

With a yawn, he glanced up at the clock on the wall. Ten minutes past midnight. Rubbing his eyes, he stood up to go home. 

Two feet from his truck a grating voice called out to him. "Lieutenant!" 

Annoyed, Steve turned around to look at Jackson Peters. Before he could say anything, Jackson started talking.

"We think we've found something down at the pier that could help with the Garlin murder. Do you want to come down and check it out with us?"

Steve fought off his annoyance with the new detective. Of course he wanted to see the new development. It was his case. All he said was, "Sure, I'll meet you down there."

Tired as he was, Steve didn't ask what the development was, nor who "us" was. Vaulting into his truck, he followed after Jackson. 

Steve bit back a growl as he jumped out of his vehicle. He'd fallen behind Jackson in traffic. Now, he was at the pier, but Peters was nowhere in sight. Muttering to himself, he stalked down towards the end of the pier. Surprisingly, he could see a small boat floating about ten yards away. It looked like it was weighed down with a bunch of discarded items.

Suddenly, a hand clamped over his mouth, and his hands were pinned behind his back. A chilly laugh penetrated the air.

"Ah, Lieutenant, I see you've met Sal and Sam. They might not plot well, but they are very good at subduing healthy, athletic types like yourself." Jackson walked in front of him with a cocky grin.

"You see, you were just getting a touch too close in your investigation into poor, departed Homer. I couldn't have that now could I?" 

Steve glared at him as his gloved hands came to collect his badge and his gun.

"You see that boat out there? That's Sal's boat. He does some hauling of, shall we say, controlled substances for a few business men he knows. He dumps them inconspicuously in the ocean, a little farther up and farther out from the coast. That's where your body will be."

 "Of course, I can't have your father poking around, so I'm going to take your badge and your gun. Then I'm going to mail them to your father with a note saying basically that you're dead and that's what happens when you cross the family. Naturally, I'll have it attributed to the other family in town. You know, 'Killing two birds with one stone'?"

"Oh, naturally, he'll look for your body. He'll try to find your killer, but he'll stop. He'll stop because what he's going to find is a mountain of evidence linking his beloved son to the murder of Homer Garlin. Whether he believes it or not, he'll stop because he won't want his son to have his reputation marred by the accusation of organized crime. And that's what'll happen if he pushes too hard. The papers will be filled with the news, and your life will be spat upon by the LAPD's finest."

"I'd kill you right now, but I can't have any forensic evidence of blood hanging around. So, Sam is going to give you a nice breath of ether and tie you up. Then, Sal is going to dump you overboard and have you literally sleeping with the fishes. I am going to drive your truck off in another direction and leave it there. You really shouldn't have given me that ride the other day. Now I have a reason for my hair to be in there."

"Bye, Lieutenant."

Jackson walked off listening to Steve endeavor to struggle against his captors as they poisoned him.


	2. Chap 2

First chap=disclaimer

Lisa, Veroon, Barrionette, Karen Faye, and Timmy: Thanks for the reviews!

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Steve moaned as he blinked his eyes open. All he saw was a tire. For a minute, he was confused; then it all came flooding back. He supposed he was fortunate that he was awake at all given that the thugs had used ether. He highly doubted they had any medical training, let alone enough to know how much ether to administer. He could never have woken up even without being dumped into the ocean. As it was, he'd gotten lucky. They hadn't given him enough.

Furiously, he worked against the ropes they had binding him. Every minute he worked was a minute closer to the time Sal was going to dump him in the water. He had no idea how long they'd been out or where they were going. All he could see was that it was still dark out. He could hear the rumbling of thunder and feel the first few drops of rain on his face. He could see nothing on the deck except that which was closest to him. A convenient flash of lightening enabled him to get a good view of the items surrounding him. Apparently, they had been smart enough to stick him in the middle of the pile so any unexpected ships would not notice him as they passed. Hidden with him were various containers, some with warning labels. Not only were they murderers and con artists, but they were dumping toxic waste in the ocean. 

As he struggled he could feel the blood begin to seep out of the abrasions on his wrists. Ignoring the pain, he twisted and pulled on his bindings harder. If he was bleeding, so be it. He could at least leave blood stains on the boat to link him to it. Maybe his Dad would have one of those inspirational thoughts of his and figure the whole thing out.

His Dad. A worse pain than that which was located on his wrists assaulted his heart. In his mind, he could still see his father's face contorted in pain. Each time someone close to him had died, his father had gotten that look. Sometimes it was worse than others. Carol had been the worst time. She had been even worse than when his mother had passed away. His father had said that a spouse might die before you, but you never expect your child to. With horror, Steve realized that his death would most likely be the worst. He would be the last of the family. His Dad would be destitute without him.

With renewed vigor he worked to get free. He didn't notice the wind pick up. He didn't notice the driving rain that poured down. All that existed in the world were his bindings and his father. With another twist, he felt the rope pop. He was free! Quickly, he brought his sore hands down to numbly untie his ankles. He stood up stiffly and turned to see the encased driver's cabin where Sal was. From his vantage point, he could see the dim glow on the horizon that stated that stated that dawn was near, though, he did not know dawn of which day. Taking a deep breath, he willed his cramped legs to move forward.

As the wind howled, Sal never once looked back to check his prisoner. With the ruckus the storm made, there was no way his captor could hear his footsteps. 

A grinding noise interrupted Steve's progress. He stopped. His eyes widened as the deck began to pitch upwards. Desperately, he struggled to stay on the ship. As the trash began to slip into the water he clawed to hold onto the slanted deck. As he clambered at the planks his hands became scratched. Finally, the angle became too steep. A scream escaped his lips as he plunged in the tumultuous brine.

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A soft smile crossed Jackson's façade as he hung up the pay phone he'd just been called at. It was time to go pack up Sloan's things to send to his father.

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Mark sighed as he tried to concentrate. It had been three days since he'd last seen Steve. He'd called home on Wednesday night saying that he wouldn't be home for dinner. Mark kicked himself for not noticing that Steve hadn't come home at all that night. He hadn't even noticed that he wasn't there on Thursday morning because he'd been called in on an emergency for one of his patients. He didn't realize his own son was missing until Cheryl called on Thursday afternoon looking for him.

They hadn't found him that night. On Friday morning, they'd found his truck abandoned off a road in the country. Today was Saturday afternoon, and they hadn't had any information since the previous morning.

The poor detective that had last seen Steve was distraught. Det. Peters said that Steve had been working late on the Garlin case. According to him, Steve said that he had an idea and wanted to look at the pier again. Peters had followed him down there as it was also his case. They'd looked around and found nothing. Peters said he went home while Steve took one more look around. He was never going to forgive himself for leaving Steve there alone.

In truth Mark was more than distraught. He was inwardly panicking. He'd chased away Amanda and Jesse when they tried to help him. He'd sat holed up in the beach house since Thursday night. Then, he couldn't take anymore of the silence that Steve's absence created. He couldn't bear to listen to the sound of a neighbor's vehicle go by and hope that it was Steve. So, he'd gone to his office to worry.

A soft knock caused his head to rise. 

"Dr. Sloan? There's a package here for you. Its marked urgent so I brought it in as long as you're here."

Mark waved away the orderly and picked up the package. Blandly, he tore it open. Steve's badge fell to the floor. His gun followed with a piece of paper attached to it. Actually relieved to see a ransom note, Mark quickly unfolded the paper. At first, all he could manage was a faint choking sound. Then, his breath wheezed out. His breath became louder until it began to stir his vocal chords. His whimper grew and grew until it was a full blown scream.

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  Steve groaned as he laid across a piece of wood. He'd managed to grab the wood and stay afloat after Sal had sped away. The rain had stopped momentarily, but he could see another bank of clouds rolling in. He didn't know whether to hate the storm for tossing him around, or love it for providing him a tiny amount of non-saltwater. Fortunately, Sal hadn't exactly been that diligent in staying far away from shore. Steve had been able to spot land about two hours after he'd been dumped. With as much strength as possible, he'd swum towards the shore he'd seen. He was pretty close now. Gathering his stubborn streak for all it was worth, he continued his journey.

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He was close now, close to the shore and close to a phone to call his Dad. The storm had picked back up, but that didn't deter his heightened spirits. Abruptly, the surfer's sense that he'd honed over the years informed him of an approaching wave. Glancing behind, he saw it head towards him. He did his best to protect himself, but the wave was too powerful. His life-saving board whipped around and hit him on the head. Reactively, he grabbed for the board again in hopes of staying above the water.

He couldn't think straight. His mind was as numb as his body. He was going to die, alone. Another wave hit, and he didn't care. The board was yanked away, and grazed his temple as it left. He wasn't awake to feel the waves deposit him on a rocky beach.


	3. Chap 3

First chap = disclaimer

 Thanks for all the reviews. You guys are really great!

Visage: Blunt? Well I suppose so. I tend to be a blunt person in my conversations, so it can carry through into my writing. As for the needing more filler, I mostly agree. Its just that my professor usually likes short papers with at least two examples (Try putting two detailed examples PLUS an explanation of what everything means into two double spaced pages, Sheesh). So, I get in the habit of cutting out extra details in my other writings. This unfortunately leads to short chapters that can sometimes be confusing. 

This leads me to another point. If you are confused or feel I should have put in another scene tell me. I'll try to fix my mistake with a flashback or at least explain what went on.

*Sigh* I think I've blatantly stomped my way into cliché valley in this chapter. Hopefully the following chapters will make up for this and the unbelievable nature of the following plot. 

Ahem, well now that I've been (probably unnecessarily) verbose, on with the story. Don't eat during the first part of the chap if you get queasy easy. 

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Steve woke up with a swollen tongue. He couldn't think. His mind was a white haze that seemed to buzz when he used it. After several minutes of trying, he managed to get his eyes open. Peering to his left, he discovered part of the reason he felt so bed. He was sprawled on a pile of rocks.

Gingerly he pushed himself into a sitting position. Almost immediately, he saw black spots in front of his eyes. His head pounded, and he doubled over sick. A stream of bile and water came out of his mouth, a testament to the last time he'd eaten. A

After a while he very slowly sat up again. About five feet of ocean stood between him and a sandy beach. The sun glinted off of the water's surface. 

Closing his eyes, he attempted to remember how he ended up on the rocks. He could vaguely recall a storm and tossing water. Pressing his hand against his forehead, he tried to remember more, but came up with nothing. Nothing but tiny fragments, like the sound of a voice or a flash of color like when they put a commercial on TV and take it right of again. 

Focusing harder, he could remember only a hospital and a doctor leaning over him. In the background he could hear someone saying that he was going to be fine. The doctor's mouth moved. He told him that he was going to be put under. The memory vanished.

Frustrated, he slapped his hand against his leg. Grabbing onto the fragment he'd recreated, he recalled the doctor's exact words. "Steve? I'm going to put you under. Okay, bud?"

His name was Steve then. Well, it wasn't much, but it was something. Blandly, he looked down at his hand. There was a streak of blood on it. He lifted it back up to his forehead and felt a swollen gash. He brought his hand back down and gazed at the fresh blood.

At least he knew why he felt so bad. Instinct took over. He needed medical attention and the only way to get attention was to get off the rock and get to the beach.

Fighting off his dizziness and nausea, he let himself down into the water, and made his way to the shore.

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Mark stared bleakly at the sunny day outside. Somehow, he felt all the more robbed because of it. Last night, the weather had reflected his grief and turmoil. But, the sunny morning only made him bitter for that which had been stolen. He was certain there would never be another sunny day in the life of Mark Sloan. When his wife died, there had been his kids. When Carol had died, there had been Steve. What was he supposed to do with Steve gone?

He supposed there was Jesse, but being like a father to him wasn't the same as actually being Steve's father. Amanda was a close friend, but she still just a friend. She wasn't his blood. There were no grandchildren. A dour smile tugged at his lips. Steve had gotten shot more times than he had held the same girlfriend for more then three weeks.

He could hear Jesse down in his kitchen making coffee. He'd driven Mark home the day before. He and Amanda had tried to help, but eventually Amanda had gone home to take care of her boys. Jesse had stayed behind to grieve with an old man.

Logically, he knew that Jesse had lost his "older brother," but inside, he couldn't focus on anything more than himself. In that light, all he could see was that Jesse was treating him with sympathy. He didn't need Jesse's sympathy. He needed to be left alone. He needed to feel his heart break. He needed to feel like the worthless old man that had let his son die. Most of all, he needed his son back. And that was something he couldn't have.

Angry and upset, Mark tumbled out of bed and stumbled to the kitchen. The grief on Jesse's face snapped him out of his anger enough to peacefully ask that Jesse leave. Jesse had been about to stubbornly refuse to go, but he saw the flicker of volatile temper in Mark's eyes. Not wanting to upset Mark further, he extracted a promise that Mark would call Amanda or him before doing anything important. Then he left praying that Mark would think that "important" also included lighting the house on fire or other destructive acts.

Jesse went out to his car and climbed in. He took out his cellphone and called Amanda. After three rings, she picked up.

"Hello" Her voice was tinted with a rasp from crying.

"Hi, Amanda its Jesse" Jesse cringed. He sounded worse than Amanda did.

"What is it Jesse?"

"Look, Mark just told me to leave, so I did. I don't think he should really be alone right now, so could you stoop by and see him?"

"Sure, I just have to drop the kids off at daycare first."

"Thanks."

"Look, Jesse, you need to get some rest. Be careful while you drive." 

Jesse choked back a sob. How many times had he told Steve to rest after an injury? Just how was he supposed to rest enough to recover from the injury that Steve's death had caused? Jesse held back his questions knowing that Amanda couldn't handle them anymore than he could. He settled for a promise of sleep and a bland goodbye.

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Amanda walked up to the front door of the beach house. She was terribly hurt inside and she knew that whatever she felt, Mark had to feel a thousand times worse. With a gentle knock, she pushed the door open. She froze in her tracks as she heard a familiar voice.

"Hey, Dad. I'm calling to let you know I've got to work late tonight, so don't keep supper waiting. I'll see you later." The beep of the answering machine followed.

Amanda hurried to see Mark sitting on the floor cradling the machine.

"Mark?"

"Those were the last words he said to me. I don't know how many times I've replayed that message, maybe one hundred." Mark's voice was dazed, his eyes glazed over as he willed himself to be anywhere than the hell he was truly in.

"Oh, Mark…"

"He's really gone isn't he? He's not coming back. He's not going to come home half beaten and ready to argue about how long he'll be on bed rest. He's not alive…"

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Jackson Peters was one very unhappy bad cop. Viciously, he broke down the grungy door to Sal and Sam's termite infested apartment.

"You idiot!" He bellowed at Sal. "Do you know how much you cost me?"

Sal looked blankly at his employer.

Peters slapped his forehead in exasperation. "You dumped the stuff too close to the shore. There were some reports of people finding driftwood, plastic, and other junk on the shores from the storm."

"So? Those cans were so heavy they sunk straight to the bottom."

"Moron, I'm talking about Sloan's body."

"What about it? He's dead now. There ain't no way they could track a dead body to us. What's a drowned corpse gonna tell them? Nothing that your note didn't."

Peters glared at them. "The less actual evidence they find, the better. I had to outlay $1,500 to a computer hacker this morning."

Sam looked at him. "What didya have to do that for?"

"I had Sloan's fingerprints removed from the system.* That way, if they find his body, he won't show up when they search his prints."

"Wouldn't the cops just think the other family did it?"

"Of course they would, but Sloan's father might not. Besides, it is much more satisfying to know that Dr. Sloan won't even have the luxury of a body for closure."

"That ain't nice boss."

"I'M not nice you insolent twip. Now, you are going to put on some gloves and plant that evidence I had you take. Sal, take his phone and dump it near the pier. They've already searched there, but the storm is a good excuse to say that it washed up." An evil grin twisted his face as he plotted. "The last phone number that 'he' dialed was Calvin's number about an hour after I supposedly left the pier. It should tie him neatly to them. Don't you think?"

Sal took the phone and hesitantly nodded yes.

"Sam, seems how you're the smarter brother, I need you to take his wallet, sans cash, down to Alvin's shop. The police are raiding the place at noon today. Make sure its in the back room and your not. Keep the cash."

Sam grinned and took the wallet.

"If you gentlemen will excuse me, I have a case to get in order before Lieutenant Sloan's friends get too curious."

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Steve blinked his eyes. He saw white. Fear clutched at his chest. He had to get away. He flung his arms around and encountered sheets. He grabbed at them and pulled, freeing his legs.

"Whoa, calm down there, son. We're not going to hurt you." An elderly doctor smiled at him as he pushed Steve back into the hospital bed.

"You're going to be alright. Although, you sure did surprise us. You looked dead when they brought you in. You must have a strong will to still be alive. Here drink some water."

Steve gulped at the water until the doctor took it away.

"That's enough for now. I can't have you drink too much at once. I'm Dr. Abrams. What is your name?"

"Steve, I think."

"You think?"

"I don't remember. I don't remember anything. I barely remember getting to the shore. Is that where you found me?"

"The shore? Well that would explain why there was some fluid in your lungs. To answer your question, the Chief of Police, Joe, found you walking down Main Street. The local children thought you were a zombie."

"How soon until I can get out?"

"My, you are impatient. Where do you intend to go?"

Steve was quiet. He didn't now who he was. How could he know where he was going?

"I don't know. I just don't like hospitals."

"Yes, I gathered that from the hasty retreat you attempted to make. You won't be well enough to leave for at least a week. If the Chief can't find out where you're from or who you are after that time, I'll send you over to Sister Agnes. She runs the homeless shelter in town. She'll help you along until then. I the mean time, get some rest."

Steve nodded and watched the doctor leave. Gently, he played with his covers. A homeless shelter didn't sound like the place to be, but what else could he do? Frustrated with his lack of options, he closed his eyes and willed himself to sleep.

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*The system I referenced actually exists. They take criminal fingerprints and keep a giant catalogue of them. When the police have prints they can't attribute, they can run them through the computer and find matches. I believe that they also put police officer's prints in too, although, I'm not quite sure about that point.


	4. Chap 4

First chap = disclaimers (101 Dalmatians is owned by Disney etc.)

Thanks to all you great reviewers!!!

NOTE: This isn't my best chapter, but I needed to set some things up for later in the story.

To answer the question asked. Basically, Steve made it to the shore and wandered into town where the police officer picked him up. I could have explained that better, and I might fix that mistake later. As Steve obviously couldn't walk far, he is in an ocean side city.

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Steve yawned as he woke up on a small cot. He'd been at Sister Agnes' shelter for three days now. He'd spent a week in the hospital. A week he really didn't want to relive. It wasn't the constant prodding from doctors or the constant questions from the police chief that bothered him. It was the dreams that came at night: dreams about being shot, about being beaten, about chasing someone through the halls of a hospital.

They were silly dreams really, but they seemed so real. The worst part was that when he was awake, he felt perfectly comfortable in the hospital sort of like he was at home. That was of course, if he even knew what being at home felt like.

 Unlike other patients, the technical jargon thrown at him didn't bother him. He didn't get the overwhelming confused feeling that other people seemed to get.

As he pulled on the donated clothes he'd been given he thought over what the doctor had told him. Apparently, his wounds indicated that he'd been bound and hit. He had two recent head injuries. Both of which were caused by a blunt object and were most likely the cause for his amnesia. He also had multiple scars on his body. According to Dr. Abrams, at least one came from a bullet wound.

Steve had sat for hours wondering about his life. His list of what he could have been ran from a distasteful criminal to a simple war veteran who'd been mugged and left for dead. He personally liked the war veteran thought. It would explain his previous wounds, including the bullet wound. It could also explain why he'd been bound. Whoever mugged him must have tossed him in the ocean thinking he was dead. It was a terrible thought, but it was much better than thinking he was a criminal.

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Jesse slammed his car door in frustration. He'd tried to get the details of the case Steve had been working on when he disappeared. Only, Cheryl couldn't give them to him because she didn't work the case, Detective Peters had. Detective Peters had refused to give the case to Jesse because he wasn't a member of the police department. It was a perfectly good excuse. As a citizen Jesse really didn't have a right to certain information. But still, it irked him.

Trying to find Steve's killer was the catharsis Jesse had. He'd tried to get Mark involved, but all he'd done was shake his head and say he didn't have the strength to hunt down another killer.

Psychologically, Jesse knew that Mark was trying to deny Steve's death by not finding Steve's killer. He also knew Mark well enough that he would eventually go after the killer. Thing was, the longer they waited, the colder the trail would be.

Jesse launched his car out of its parking spot. He would head over to Mark's and try to snap him out of his shock enough to catch his own son's murderer. 

When Jesse arrived at the beach house, he was greeted by the sight of a police car outside. He rushed inside to see Mark staring out his window and police officers dusting the door handles. After he identified himself, he went over to Mark.

"Hey, what's going on?"

Glazed eyes focused slowly on Jesse.

"I went for a walk on the beach. I was out there for hours. When I came back, all of Steve's videos had been rifled through. Not his CD's not our DVD's just the video tapes. They melted his copy of _101 Dalmatians_ on the stove."

Jesse blinked. "Steve had a copy of _101 Dalmatians_?"

"He got it to show Amanda's boys. He said something about introducing them to the real animated classics."

"Do we know who did it?"

"They won't say, but I think it is probably who killed Steve." Mark's voice was emotionless.

"Why would they burn that tape? Do you think he had some evidence on them?"

"I don't know why, Jesse. Steve would never hide something as important as an incriminating video tape, at least not without telling someone else. I just don't understand any of this."

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Peters looked at Sal. "Well, you finally did something right. You managed to destroy the tape without leaving a billion fingerprints all over the place. I must say, just burning it there was quite ingenious. That way, there's no investigation into what was stolen they can see what happened."

"Thanks boss."

"Don't let it go to your head. Poor Sloan. He never even knew he had the key to Garlin's murder. Old Garlin would have gotten away with it if he had been able to keep his mouth shut."

Sam looked confused. Sal, on his boss' good side for once, pretended to understand. Sam ruined the moment.

"Hey, I was there when we questioned Garlin. He didn't say nothin'." 

"To us, no. But, the poor fool tried to write Sloan a note in his own blood. He drew a box with a picture inside of it. I think he was trying to make a dog. Lucky for me, Sloan couldn't figure the message out in time."

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Steve glanced around the little shelter and sighed. He couldn't live like this. He needed something to do. He couldn't drain the shelter of funds when there were people who truly needed the money and support.

"Sister?"

"Yes?"

"I want to get a job. Now, I know that I've only been here a short while, but I can't live on charity, not when I don't have to."

"Oh, but…"

"No buts. They've had a week and a half. They haven't found one missing person report or anything to know who I am. I can't spend the rest of my life waiting for some person to rescue me. Now, Sheriff Baines said that in other cases like mine, they've issued temporary social security numbers until a person is identified. I want to get one and get a job. Even if its pumping gas."

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Two weeks later, Steve looked at his new social security card. To him, it was a passport to an actual life. 

"Stephen MacTyre." He read aloud. He smiled as he recalled the conversation he'd had with Dr. Abrams about it.

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"Well now," the doctor had said, "Steve, well that should be fairly easy. How about Stephen? It sounds a bit more sophisticated than plain old Steve."

Steve nodded. "Okay. What about the last name?"

"How about Jones?"

"Isn't that a bit obvious?"

"You're right. What about something Irish? McDougal?"

"Don't you think I'm a bit tall to be Irish?"

"That's highly stereotypical of the Irish young man. However, we can make it Scottish. How about MacDougal?"

"Are you sure I look Scottish."

"You've never used a cheap genealogy service have you? According to them everyone has Irish or Scottish blood in them, of course they also say everyone is related to George Washington. In any case, it will work."

"Fine, we'll go with something Scottish. But NOT MacDougal."

"Why not?"

"Because my real name could be Steven Dumpkispoof for all I know, and I want a name I really like."

"Well then, what do you suggest?"

"Well umm, lets see." Steve glanced around until his eyes landed on a cake that a lady had brought to the shelter. "Tier."

"Ah, MacTyre a fine name."

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Steve shook his head as he remembered. He didn't know why he had been so stubborn. He just had been. Tucking his new card and photo ID in his pocket, he went job hunting.


	5. chap5

First chap= disclaimers 

Mercedes belongs to Mercedes Benz.

Thanks for the reviews!

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A vine of grief sprouted its way around Jesse Travis' heart as he stared at the memorial plaque that had been made for the service. One month after Steve's last phone call, Mark had finally gotten together enough to have a proper service to say goodbye. Blindly, Jesse wiped away a tear. Turning around, he could see Amanda supporting Mark as he greeted the visitors.

There were all sorts of people coming to pay their respects. Doctors, nurses, police, cooks, waitresses, convicted felons who had gotten released, previously homeless, just about all walks of life. It would have been a humbling experience had it not been so sad an occasion. Blandly, Jesse watched as Jack Stewart hugged Mark. Jesse seethed at the presence of only one person in the room. Jackson Peters.

The man was oilier than a batch of bad French fries. He drove Jesse nuts, and no-one else noticed. Even Mark hadn't noticed as his normally sharp senses were dulled by grief. But, Jesse still held the opinion that if he held a match to Peters, the man would catch on fire.

As the minister approached the front of the room, Jesse moved to take his seat and say farewell to his best friend.

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Peters felt a sharp stabbing pain in his gut as he doubled over from the blow he'd received.

"What are you, stupid?" His assailant asked. When he didn't receive an answer, the man continued. "You guys aren't too bright are you? Didja really think that we'd let you pin that cop's murder on us?"

Despite the pain he was in, Peters already had a contingency plan figured out. "Actually, I was hoping we could make a deal."

"A fine way of saying that, chump. You think we want to do business with you when you've got the police on our case?"

Peters sputtered as he received another blow. "Look, I work for the LAPD. I can arrange things."

"Yeah, like what?"

"Don't tell me you guys don't have someone who's getting a touch too close to the law."

"Maybe, what're you saying?"

"I'm saying that you pin Sloan's murder on that guy. Look, I've got enough evidence planted that we can kill two birds with one stone. All you have to do is coach a couple of your guys into saying that your trouble guy was trying to cut a deal with Sloan and that the deal went sour. That way, you are off the hook, the police like you cause you turned in a perp, your problem is solved, and Sloan gets nailed. Its perfect."

Peters' assailant stopped. "I'll talk to my Boss. You know, you ain't as stupid as we thought."

Peters grinned as they left him in the alley. _No, no I'm not._

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Steve sighed as he trudged up an enormously long driveway. This was the last ad in the paper. Everyone else in town had refused to hire him for one reason or another, but he knew the real reason why. They didn't know who he was or what he was capable of. Of course Dr. Abrams and Sister Agnes supported him, but it hadn't been enough to dispel potential employers' fears. Apparently, he was too dangerous to flip burgers.

A very large house loomed in front of Steve. He wasn't surprised. When you have to ring a bell and announce yourself and your intentions to get let through a gate, you kind of expect it. With an extra spurt of energy, he went around to the side entrance as he'd been instructed when he inquired at the gate. Nervously, he knocked on the door. A gangly man in an average suit answered the door.

He looked at Steve. "Turn around."

Bewildered, Steve complied. 

"See that bag of sand there? Pick it up."

More confused than before, Steve again complied.

"Congratulations, you are hired. Step inside will you?"

Steve followed the man into what appeared to be a small kitchen. Recovered from his shock, he managed to regain his speech. "I'm hired?"

The gangly man's reserve broke into a smile. "You are the first applicant that has filled the two requirements for this job. 1. You can lift 75 pounds. 2. You can stay on at the house year round. Most of our applicants have been, shall we say, non-committal high school students."

Steve looked at him. "I stay here?"

"Yes, unless, of course you enjoy staying at Sister Agnes' shelter?"

"No, I just assumed…"

"You assumed wrong, Mr. MacTyre."

"Great, well, what do I do?"

"You, are responsible for maintaining the appearance of the lawn, driveway, and pathways. You sweep the cement, fill cracks, fill in potholes, and mow the lawn. You also rake the yard when necessary."

Steve looked at the man. "I get a room and payment for that? Couldn't you just hire it done by a lawn care company?"

"Yes, but it takes so long for companies to fix a problem for you, and usually they hire people who don't really care about their work. Besides, we have the extra room and pay only minimum wage. A small fee for having immediate help."

Steve blew a sigh of relief out of his lips. He didn't have to pay rent. That made his life a whole lot easier.  The other man motioned to Steve to follow him.

"Come, I'll show you to your room."

Steve was surprised when the man led him back outdoors to a much smaller building.

"A servant's quarters?" Steve asked.

A chuckle came from the other man. "Yes, the owner, he is a touch eccentric. On a rainy day, you can access the main house through by the covered walkway over there."

Steve smiled as he took in the yard. At the backside of the property, he could see the ocean. The same ocean that he's pulled himself out of. He still couldn't remember his walk into town, but he'd been able to relocate the spot where he'd washed up. The grouping of rocks he'd been deposited on had stuck clearly in his mind. Steve's attention was brought back as his guide handed him a set of keys.

"These are the keys for your apartment, the main house, the garage, and the tool shed. And this, is your room."

Steve glanced at it. It was what would be called a very small efficiency apartment. A small kitchenette was combined with a tiny room housing a window, a couch and a television. The bedroom was partitioned off by a short wall. There was a small bathroom attached to the bedroom. It wasn't large, but it was clean, and more importantly it was his.

Steve looked at the man who hired him. "When do I start?"

"Tomorrow."

"Before you go, what is your name?"

The other man stopped and blushed. "My pardon, I've done so many interviews the past few days that I've lost my manners. I'm James Jameson, I am the head of the servants."

"James Jameson?"

"Please, call me Jim. My parents were not exactly inventive."

"Where are the others?"

"The others?"

"You know, the other servants."

"There aren't any. At least not when the owner isn't here. It is just you, me and Ms. Thronson."

"Ms. Thronson is?"

"Mr. Thronson's daughter. She lives here year round while her father and his family live in Boston. She sort of watches his house for him."

"I see. Thank you, Jim."

"My pleasure, Stephen."

"Steve, call me Steve."

"Steve, then. Why don't you arrange your quarters and I'll go in and collect your clothes from Sister Agnes."

"You don't have to do that."

"Oh, but I do. For once, I have the chance to bear the hottest gossip in town. Plus, it gives me an excuse to drive the Mercedes into town."

"Okay, well, thanks." Steve watched as Jim walked off. He turned to look at his new home. It wasn't great, but it was his. Resolutely, he began to adjust the slant of the couch before he could wonder what his old home looked like.


	6. Chap 6

First chap = disclaimers

Hey, thanks for all the reviews!!!!

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Steve groaned as he walked into the small kitchen of the main house. He'd been in the middle of mowing the lawn when it started to rain. The house had been closer than his apartment, so he'd run in there.

"Hello, Steve. Enjoying our lovely weather?" Jim asked from where he was seated.

"Oh, its just wonderful." Steve grumbled a second before his stomach did.

"Hungry? Why don't you grab something out of the fridge? Ms Thronson won't mind."

Steve smiled his thanks and moved to do as Jim had suggested. "Gross."

"Gross?! I did the shopping myself yesterday. Everything in there is the highest quality I assure you."

"Yeah, I'm sure everything is great, but none of it is prepared. I have discovered that I can't cook anything but coffee."

Jim chuckled. "As a confirmed bachelor, I can assure you that I have the same problem. However, I soon tired of the microwaveable meals and soup in a can, so…"

"So?"

"So, I learned to cook eggs."

"You live off of eggs?"

"Eggs are an amazing thing. You can prepare them in hundreds of different ways. From eggs I learned to prepare many different breakfast foods. They are all fairly simple."

"I don't believe you."

"I never could find a true believer. Why don't you grab the eggs and I'll get a pan. I'll teach you the most basic. Scrambled eggs."

A half hour and one dozen eggs later, both men had managed to eat non-burnt scrambled eggs courtesy of Steve. It was a stupid thing, but for a man who thought he could burn water, Steve felt very proud of himself.

"Jim?"

"Yes?"

"What type of person is Ms Thronson." Steve asked as he cleaned the dishes. His "boss" hadn't yet returned from her trip east and he hadn't met her yet.

"Ms Thronson is very—"

"Wet. James. I'm wet. My car quit at the bottom of the hill and I had to walk up to the house."

Steve turned around to see a woman in her thirties. Her dark red hair was plastered to her face and mascara was running everywhere. She looked rather like an Irish Setter who'd just had a bath. He laughed.

"Oh, just who are you Mr. I'm-in-serious-jeopardy-of-losing-my-job?"

Jim smiled encouragingly at Steve's look of strain.

"This is Mr. MacTyre. I hired him for the maintenance position."

"MacTyre? Do you have a first name?"

"Steve." His voice cracked.

"Well, Steve, don't look too stressed. I leave all of the hiring and firing to Jim here. If he thinks you're right, than I do. Just stay out of my father's way when he stays here. He likes to fire the help. It makes him feel like a real man."

"Not a good trip?" Jim asked.

"No, First I had to deal with my obnoxious self-centered sister who wants to be an actress. Then I had to deal with my teenage brothers who want to go into punk rock. Then I had to deal with my youngest brother who just went into his "terrible twos." If THAT wasn't enough, my father's current trollop "Mitzi" Insisted we go shopping together."

Steve looked at her. "Do you want some coffee?"

She smiled. "Jim, I might have to replace you with this guy. I would LOVE some coffee Steve."

Steve returned shortly after with three steaming mugs.

"Well, seems how you just got the once over on my life, what about you? What's your story Mr. MacTyre?"

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Mark smiled artificially as he went about his rounds. It was his first day back since Steve's disappearance and death. He didn't think he'd ever truly smile again, but he owed it to his patients. They didn't deserve his misery.

He'd tried to get into Steve's case. He really had, but it was just too painful. Every time he picked up a piece of paper he'd be confronted with the pain of his son's passing. He had gotten the information on both Steve's case and the one he was working on when he disappeared. Detective Peters had been very helpful when he asked. He said that as an official advisor to the police, Mark should be allowed to view the files.

Mark had given those files to Jesse. He thought that he heard Jesse mumbled something about being surprised that Mark could get a hold of someone so greasy, but he wasn't sure. For once in his life, Mark Sloan was glad to have a mountain of work to do that would keep him away from family business.

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Jesse groaned as he straightened up from his desk in his apartment. He never appreciated he much work Steve put into a case. Jesse had always been a part of a group of four solving a mystery. Steve had done countless murders on his own. Granted, Steve had been trained to do it, but still it wasn't easy.

Mark couldn't help. And Amanda tried, but she still had a job, two kids, and her own pain to deal with. When she wasn't working on those things, she was trying to help Mark cope. That basically left Jesse on his own as the police weren't about to cooperate with him.

With a sigh, Jesse got on his jacket and headed to work.

Two hours into his shift, Jesse became aware of another man's presence. His could almost taste the lard in his mouth. "Detective Peters, what can I do for you?"

"I'm here to talk to Dr. Sloan. We've found his son's killer." Peters smiled at the reaction of excitement on the young doctor's face.  Anyone would interpret Peters' smile as the same as Jesse's, excitement over the capture. In truth, Peters reflected, he was thrilled to have just pulled off his greatest scam.

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Steve eyes his boss warily. She seemed to be thinking over his situation very slowly. He swallowed. She looked at him. He swallowed again.

"Neither of you can tell my father. He'll fire you before he sets eyes one you."

"You don't think I'm a liability?"

"You might be, you might not. Amnesia is a difficult thing Steve, but it is not something that is your fault. I cannot condemn you for it."

A sigh of relief blew out of Steve's lips.

"If you gentlemen will excuse me, I think I'll go change and give Dr. Abrams a call."

"Going to check my story?" Steve asked, incredulous.

"No, I'm calling for my work schedule."

Steve blushed. "I'm sorry, Jim didn't mention you were a nurse."

"I'm not, I'm a doctor."


	7. Chap 7

First chap = disclaimers

THANKS FOR ALL THE GREAT REVIEWS!!!!! You keep me going!

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(3 months later)

Mark Sloan shivered as he looked at Steve's supposed killer as the man was led into the courtroom. Jarrod Pilner didn't look like a killer: Five foot nine, blonde hair, blue eyes, freckles, glasses, twenty-two and a lisp. But, Mark knew that no-one really looked like a killer. The only evidence missing to firmly nail Pilner's coffin shut was the fact that there was no body.

The other evidence was to say the least, impeccable. Peters had sworn to Mark that he would catch Steve's killer, and he had kept that promise. The man had worked on the organized crime family until he broke them down. He had three witnesses to testify against the young man now seated at the front of the courtroom. Three of Pilner's "friends" who had been there when Steve was murdered. Three men who knew where Steve's body was. Unfortunately, dragging the bottom of the Pacific Ocean wasn't exactly feasible. 

To say that Mark had been elated when the arrest was finally made would be a lie. He wasn't elated. He wasn't even happy. He was simply justified. There was no happy feeling. He would have let one-hundred mobsters on the streets if it would have brought his son home safely. But, it wasn't to be. So, he sought solace in the fact that At least one would pay for the crime.

As the trial began, Mark's eyes wandered over to Jesse. Things had been difficult between them lately. Jesse didn't like Peters. The closer that Mark had worked with Peters and the D.A. to make the case work, the more strained his relationship with Jesse became.

In his heart, Mark knew that Jesse was most likely correct. The whole blame shouldn't be put on Jarrod Pilner. The crime family he was associated with had to have had more involvement than the case would show. Still, to hope to bring down an entire group was not practical. And, Mark Sloan was sure not going to let them get off without paying some price. Someone had to pay for what they'd done to his only son.

Jesse had an argument that made Mark unsettled. As much as Mark wanted Jarrod Pilner to go away for what he had done, the way they were going to put him in prison was unpalatable. The testimony would be that Steve was in league with Pilner. He'd killed Homer Garlin as a favor for Pilner. Then, Steve had started to put pressure on Pilner to help him out. Pilner got angry and strangled Steve to death.

Of course, none of Steve's friends believed he was working with Pilner. They just saw it as a way to cover up for the actual crime family as they used Jarrod for their scape goat. At least, everyone but Jesse saw it that way.

And there, thought Mark, hung the real crux of the matter. Jesse didn't think that Jarrod Pilner was guilty. He swore that the guy was being set up and that Mark and Amanda should know better. He said it was a disservice to Steve for his father and close friend to let an innocent man be tried for Steve's death.

Jesse firmly believed in Jarrod Pilner's defense. He'd been trying to get out of the family. He'd been working on his father to leave the group. As retaliation, they pinned Steve's murder on him.

After looking at the testimony of the three witnesses and the forensic evidence, Mark had found the story laughable. The testimony matched on all major points. A flashlight had been found at Jarrod's apartment. Testing showed that it was Steve's. Cheryl could testify to the fact that it had been in Steve's truck the morning of the day he went missing.

When Mark confronted Jesse with the evidence, the younger doctor had not backed down. All he said was that they planned well and planted the evidence. Mark had retaliated that it had to have been one grand scheme to pull it over on the LAPD. At that moment, Jackson Peters had walked in. Jesse had looked straight at the man and said, "Yeah, I guess so, but it doesn't make it less true. Besides, they had help."

It was the last conversation Mark had had with Jesse Travis. Shaking his head, Mark focused on the opening arguments. When this was all over, maybe then things could get back to normal, at least as far as his relationship with Jesse was concerned.

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Stephen MacTyre sighed as he looked at the broken shovel. He had to finish fixing the dirt walkway today, but he needed that shovel to do it. He groaned as he thought about the six mile walk into town. Swearing to himself that he was going to buy the first rundown old car that he could afford, he headed to his min-apartment to get his wallet.

Things had been going well for him at his new job. His small pay had enabled him to purchase clothes that actually fit instead of ones given to him in charity. Jim had worked with him on his cooking skills. He'd just mastered over easy eggs last week. This week, he was going to graduate to simple pancakes. 

Mostly, he just got a list of things that needed to be done on the walkways and the grounds. Thankfully, he didn't have to bother with the flower beds as there was a gardener who did the major tending once a month and Jim did the weekly weeding.

His "boss" basically left him alone. When he actually ran into her, she talked to him like he was just any other person, not the hired help. Steve smiled. If he actually had his memory, life would be pretty great. He had a place to stay and a job that paid for his other necessities. According to Jim, that was how life was except when Mr. Thronson came to his Californian Beach home. Then, one had to be the perfect servant. Mr. Thronson was apparently nothing like his daughter. Where she preferred to hang around with the "servants" when she was lonely, Mr. Thronson hired temporary help and threw a party.

Steve's smile faltered. He hoped he would survive when Mr. Thronson came. He couldn't afford to lose this job.

"You look like your pet dog just died, Steve."

He turned around at the sound of his boss' voice.

"I'm just thinking about the hike into town. I broke the shovel handle and I need to get a new one."

"Why don't you ride in with me? I have to stop by the hospital. By the time I'm done there, you should be able to finish your business at the hardware store."

"You sure you don't mind?" 

"Of course not, I hardly think an extra six miles to your journey will improve your or the walkway's physical condition."

"Great." Steve quickly followed her to her car and climbed in the passenger's side.

As they pulled out of the drive, he watched her. A tall slender frame with flaming red hair and blue eyes was what made up Dr. Angel Thronson, pediatric surgeon. Of course, she didn't do many surgeries in the quaint little upscale town that she lived in. She had to do mostly routine checkups. When she wasn't working, she usually bummed around the giant house in a tee shirt and blue jeans watching mindless movies on cable or reading a book.

Her eyes darted over to him. "Astounded by my beauty?" She asked as her lips twitched into a smile.

Steve grinned and shook his head. "Actually, I was wondering why you practice medicine here? Wouldn't you be more content actually working in a larger hospital?"

"That is a good question. Why am I here?" She paused for minute. She cleared her throat and continued.

 "I guess the whole story started when I was young. My father was an up and coming fashion designer. He married my mother who was a model. We had a very nice life together. Then, when I was nine, my father started to spend more and more time becoming successful. My mother started more and more time with other men. My father didn't even realize that she'd run off with the plumber until she was late for a luncheon appointment. She'd been gone for over a week."

"I'm sorry."

"What for? You didn't run off with her. Anyway, he wasn't the same afterwards. He spent more time with other women and basically left me to different nannies. So I got rebellious."

"What did you do?"

"Oooh, something terrible. I'd always been fascinated by science, so I went to college for my medical degree. MOST parents would be thrilled with that decision. NOT my father. He wanted me to go into design so I could work in the family business. I got so mad at him that I decided to make him really angry and go into forensic science. He was livid. We didn't talk for a few years." 

"Then, in my first year of graduate school, he had a stroke when his second wife left him. He came out here to recuperate. I dropped everything to take care of him. He started to get better and decided to "help" me. Old Dr. Gramson was going to be retiring from the local hospital in a few years. My father arranged it so that I could take his place. I didn't have much of a choice. My student loans were coming due, and without my father's money, I wasn't going to finish."

"So, I enrolled at a University here in California and changed my emphasis to Pediatrics so I could take over from Dr. Gramson when I was done with my internship. I majored in Pediatric surgery, simply because I didn't want to totally give in to my father's demands. And, here I am."

Steve frowned. He would hate to have a father that was so inconsiderate. The again, he didn't even know what his own father was like. The thought sobered him. What if his own father was like her father or worse?  Angel glanced over at Steve's face.

"Hey, don't worry. I'm certain that someone is out there looking for you, and they'll be thrilled when they see you again."

"Yeah, probably some gang." Steve bitterly replied.

"Stephen MacTyre! In the three months I've known you and you've known, well, you have you every acted in anyway that did not benefit man kind?"

Steve shook his head.

"See? You are one of the kindest and nicest people I know. I refuse to believe that my friend is some fiend on the outside of the law."

Steve grinned. "If it turns out that you're wrong, will you be a character witness at my trial?"

She smiled. "No, I'll hire your lawyer."

"Thanks, it is nice to know that someone believes in me. Even if I don't."

"A lot of people believe in you. In the short time you've been here, you've built one heck of a reputation. Almost everyone in this town is behind you now. I have to turn them away from offering you jobs. After all, where am I going to find such a dedicated worker with the requisite muscles?"

A blush tinted Steve's cheeks. His voice was a touch strangled as they pulled into town. "Why don't you drop me off at the hardware store? I'll walk over to the hospital when I'm done."

"Sure. Hey, Steve?"

"Yes?"

"Would you like to eat out later tonight? I'm sure there is only so many microwave dinners that you can eat."

"I'd love to, but…"

"My treat. After all, I do have a doctor's salary."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

"Well then, I'd love to."

The car rolled to a halt outside of the store and Steve got out. As Angel drove away, Steve stared at the retreating taillights. Did this constitute a social life?


	8. Chap 8

First chap = disclaimers

Thanks to all my patient reviewers!

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Mark Sloan had never had such a harrowing experience in his life. Again and again points were debated and his son's good name was beaten. Over and over lawyers wrangled about a case with no body and nothing but the testimony of a group of crooks. Mark's own testimony might have humanized his son, but it seemed that no matter how he testified, Steve's legacy would be ruined. If Mark had to pay that price, then he wanted that conviction. And, he got it. The details of the case were not strong enough for first degree, but Jarrod had been found guilty of second degree murder. He was sentenced to fifteen years in prison.

His father's heart rebelled against the conviction. That young man had taken away his last child and turned Mark Sloan into a lonely old man. In his head, Mark knew it was the best he could hope for without a body. In his heart, he wailed for the injustice in his life and burned with anger for the injustice in Steve's death.

The conviction had been passed down two weeks ago. It had not brought the closure that Mark sought to his grief, but it did bring a sense of justice. It also brought some tense moments at Community General. Things had not gone well with Jesse after the conviction. It was not a surprise given the younger doctor's feelings on the matter.

Jesse had been removed and detached. The cheerful Jesse had been replaced with the clinical Dr. Travis: professional, polite, and passive. He talked to Mark in the most professional tones and only talked about hospital business. He had avoided anything else.

After about a week and a half of the quiet standoff between them, Amanda had intervened. She had scolded Jesse about the way he was acting. He needed to be Mark's friend. Just because Jesse disagreed with the conviction didn't mean that he had to alienate Mark. They were close; starting a feud over Steve wasn't going to change the fact that he was gone, and they all needed to restructure their lives. A type of truce had been drawn between them neither talked about Steve's murder.

It had worked. The two remaining partners in BBQ Bob's had reconciled. Mark glanced at his watch. It was time to head down to the establishment for lunch.

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Jesse Travis quickly stuffed his folder under the cash register when he saw Mark come in. It wouldn't do to have Mark know that his friend was not giving up on Steve's murder. After some pretty fancy wrangling Jesse had gotten more information about the case Steve had been working on when he died. Jesse was positive that the Garlin murder tied directly into Steve's. The more he saw of Jackson Peters, the more he was convinced that Peters had something to do with it.

Naturally telling Mark about his suspicions would only create problems. Jesse couldn't tell Amanda either. If he told Amanda, she would tell Mark what Jesse told her. So, he was left to work alone, at least until he had some solid evidence to go on.

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Steve sighed as he settled down in front of his small T.V. The warm beer in his hand was not a good substitute for a restaurant and conversation. The one night he went out to dinner with Angel had turned into a weekly affair. Every Tuesday, they would go out to some local restaurant and eat. He didn't think that was going to happen tonight.

Her family had arrived early Tuesday morning. All day Monday, Jim had lectured him on what to do, and what not to do, and who was who. The twenty-year-old peroxide blonde was Evelyn Mr. Thronson's first child from his second marriage. She was likeable enough, but talked incessantly. All you had to do was nod a few times, compliment her acting ability, and walk away.

The two seventeen-year-old boys were Alan and Toby. One couldn't tell what their real hair color was as they had dyed it blue and purple respectively. They too were from Mr. Thronson's second marriage. Their father did not mind their appearance. Apparently, he'd worked in the fashion industry too long to object to any particular trend. When Steve met them, he'd found them garish especially with the vibrant lime green jackets they were wearing. He would never be caught in public like that, but he thought they seemed nice enough. Well, he thought they were nice. He really wasn't sure with all the 'in' lingo they used to talk to him.

The two-year-old was Michael. There wasn't much to say about him. He was a toddler going through his terrible twos. His mother was off in Spain somewhere after getting a healthy divorce settlement. Mr. Thronson paid her well and h e got custody of his son.

Apparently, Mr. Thronson did not learn from his mistakes. He had brought his highly annoying girlfriend with him. Mitzi was twenty-four. Her black hair was perfectly groomed as were her nails. She had a very high pitched voice and whined constantly. Steve personally thought that the only member of the household the woman could actually have a conversation with was the two-year-old Michael.

Mr. Joseph Thronson was a fairly good looking man. Intelligent, wealthy, and had a very short temper. Steve didn't get much time to observe the owner of the house. Steve had retreated very quickly about the time Mitzi decided to compliment him on his muscles. He had the feeling Mr. Thronson was a jealous man.

So, he sat barely watching the program he had on. He was lonely and bored. Jim was busy, and he didn't exactly get along with the stuffy staff that Mr. Thronson had brought along to cook and clean and wait on the family. He sighed as he took another swig of his warm and now flat beer. A glance at the clock told him he'd been nursing it for at least an hour.

Annoyed for some reason that the police drama on T.V. wasn't realistic, he pushed himself off the couch. Maybe he would go for a walk along the beach. A gentle knock interrupted his thoughts. He walked over to the door and opened it.

Angel stood outside. Her purse was thrown over her should and her car keys were in her hand. Instead of her usual tee-shirt and jeans, she was wearing a short, black sundress and high heeled sandals.

"Are you ready to go?"

"I didn't think we were going out tonight. I thought you were going to spend the time with your family."

"Steve, if you had to choose between your company and my family's company, what would you choose? I get to see them all week. They won't even notice I'm gone tonight. Besides, I want to have a nice night out. The weekend is going to be full of social calls and horrid parties."

Steve laughed. "Why don't you sit down, and I'll go change." His eyes looked over her as she sat down on his small couch. "Should I wear something a little better?"

"What? Oh, no, I'm just wearing this because I went with my father to visit a designer friend this afternoon.  I had to be 'At least in fashion if not stunning.'"

"I'd hardly call that 'not stunning'."

"That is your concussion talking. Besides, stunning in the current fashion world probably means wearing a tissue box on your head."

Steve walked into his bedroom and changed into something less crumpled.

"So, where are we going tonight?"

"We are going where you want to go. It is your choice tonight, remember Mr. MacTyre?"

"It's my choice? Great, why don't we go to Sal's?"

"Are you going to order ribs again?"

"Are you complaining? It is my choice you know."

"I know that it is you choice. I just hate it when you start to decipher what's in the sauce. For a man who can't cook, you are obsessed about barbeque sauce."

Steve grinned. "Well, you ought to be glad that I like it. Otherwise I'd just postpone this until the hospital cafeteria is open tomorrow."

"Do not remind me that you like hospital food."

"Fine, just don't remind me that you hate boxing."

"You are intolerable."

"No. I'm not. If I was intolerable, you would be spending tonight with them." Steve jerked his thumb at the house as they walked to the garage.

"Alright, fair enough, you win. You are nowhere near as intolerable as they can be."

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Steve was in considerably better spirits than earlier in the evening as they returned from their dinner. There had been one down point in the meal. He couldn't remember what they had been talking about, but all of a sudden, he'd been hit with a flash of memory. Automatically, he'd started to launch into an 'I remember a time when…' story, only to lose it as fast as it had come. He couldn't remember anything from the memory except a particular view of the ocean. 

He'd sat brooding for a while before Angel reached over and squeezed his hand.

"Hey," she said "it is okay. Don't force it. You're a great guy as it is, no-one will think less of you for not remembering, no-one important anyway."

Steve glanced over his shoulder as Angel followed him back to his apartment on the pretense of opening his door for him as he carried his to-go container. He knew better. She was simply buying time to keep away from the rather insane Mitzi. Her siblings and father would leave her to her own devices, but Mitzi was a bit too dense to catch the signal.

Steve nodded his thanks as she held the door for him and he switched on the lights in his apartment. He quickly deposited his container on the small counter in his kitchenette. As he turned around to say goodnight, he caught site of her leaning against the doorjamb smiling at him.

"What?" he asked as he double checked to make sure he didn't have anything stuck on his shirt.

"I want to thank you for brightening up my night. You don't know how much it meant to me."

Steve sauntered over to where she stood. "Hey, I'm good at relieving stress. Don't mention it."

"Goodnight, Steve."

"Goodnight, Angel."

Neither moved for a second, then, Steve leaned down and gently brushed his lips against hers. They both froze in shock before Angel bolted towards the house, leaving a very bewildered Steve behind.


	9. Chap 9

First chap=disclaimers

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Steve kicked the offensive bag of sand that he was supposed to use to fix part of the landscaping. It was truly unbearable. The stupid bag just wouldn't stay upright so he could shovel out of it. Annoyed with himself, he plopped down onto the ground. Logically, he knew that the sand had absolutely nothing to do with his mood. The half glimpses of memories that he couldn't quite remember were as torturous as they were hopeful. 

The memories though were not the true source of his agitation. Angel was. One tiny kiss, and she avoided him like the plague. At first, he just assumed that she was spending time with her family, which she had been doing, so he wasn't concerned. But, after they finally packed up a left, she wasn't at home. She was working very long hours and sleeping or working when she came home. He had tried to ask her what was wrong at least three times, but she didn't answer.

The problem was, he mused, he knew exactly what the problem was. It was him. Being close friends with an amnesiac was fine. There really wasn't a problem. His "old" friends did not have a claim to him not making any "new" ones.  A romantic relationship though, that could cause a myriad of problems. They did not know if he had a wife, an ex-wife, a fiancée, a girlfriend, or anything else about his love life. There was a big risk there. 

On the other hand, he couldn't live his life based on what might lurk in his past. He might never regain his memory. Did he truly want to live the rest of his life not doing what he wanted simply because of his past or lack thereof?

Steve gritted his teeth and picked himself up off of the ground. He had to do something about the situation, and he intended to do it right now. He stalked quickly to his apartment to retrieve his wallet and call a taxi. 

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Jesse Travis looked over the case file spread out on his coffee table. Usually when he looked at it, he would become totally absorbed and not notice the time. Now though, he felt guilty. He had lied to Mark Sloan. Mark had asked him to go along with him to a new "Family Loss Group." Jesse had declined saying that he had some work to finish and that he needed sleep. Both of which were true, but Jesse had only achieved the first. He had never had an intention of doing the latter

Oh, Jesse Travis knew the signs of a grieving man. He also knew that losing himself in work was one of the "coping" mechanisms that people used that could end up with disastrous effects. At this point, he didn't care. He just could not let go until he solved the whole situation to his satisfaction.

Resolutely, Jesse shoved away all his thoughts and focused on the papers before him. What did Homer Garlin's picture drawing mean? Obviously, the picture was a message. What the message meant was the problem. What did the destruction of Steve's videotape mean? He had been with Steve when the detective purchased the cassette from the local video store. He remembered it specifically because he had asked Steve why he wasn't buying the DVD. As he recalled, Steve was just being stingy. What on earth could a brand new children's video tape have to do with crime families?

The young doctor got up to get himself another cup of coffee. He didn't think he was going anywhere tonight.

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Mark Sloan sighed as he began to go through Steve's belongings. He had put it off for too long. Too many months had passed, enough months for the police to arrest and for the courts to convict a man of murder. Mark shuddered as he piled Steve's clothes into a storage bin. He had spent enough time in denial. Moving Steve's clothes wasn't going to do anything, and it wasn't like Mark was packing it all up at once. He was going to do it gradually until everything was taken care of. A nice methodical pace would do nicely. The bonus being that he didn't need the room. He could enshrine it if he wanted, but Steve would want his father to come to terms with what happened even if he could never move on. 

Not move on was exactly what Mark planned to do. He wasn't going to retire. He wasn't going to remodel Steve's section of the house for some other use. He was going to live the rest of his life exactly as he did now. He would live. He would still be the old, loving Dr. Sloan, but he was not about to ever forget. In fact, he didn't even plan on getting rid of any of Steve's possessions. They would be put in storage containers and the furniture would be covered and everything would be stored right in Steve's apartment. It was a fine point as far as the "grief specialists" were concerned, but no-one had ever called Mark Sloan normal.

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Amanda sighed as she plopped down onto her couch. The boys had been particularly aggressive during dinner, and she was for once glad that there was something they wanted to watch on the T.V.  Now, she had about fifty-five minutes left to think before they started again. She smiled as they wrestled for the remote. Then a darker thought hit her. What would she do if one of them never came home? What would she do if one of them was shot dead?

Amanda shivered slightly at the prospect. It was not an uncommon thought these days. Ever since Steve had died, a small fear lingered in the back of her mind. The boys had been very fond of their "Uncle Steve." What was she going to do if one or both decided to become a police officer? Wasn't it bad enough that she had lost three of her best friends already?

Steve was dead, but Amanda had lost Mark and Jesse to. Oh, logically she knew that they all would eventually come back to a "normal" state, but until then she was living with a ghost and two zombies. It did not help that she knew she would probably be the same way if she didn't have CJ and Dion. They forced her to keep living. Amanda just hoped that Jesse and Mark would find a reason too.

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It was nearly dark when Steve's taxi pulled up in front of the small hospital where Angel worked. It was the same hospital that he'd been taken to when they found him wandering around on the streets so long ago. He'd finally been able to recall his rather strained journey into town. He had pulled himself out of the ocean, dragged himself up the steep embankment, and hobbled along the road into town. He was certain that he had to have more pleasant memories than that in his head.

His swift stride carried him past the reception desk and straight towards the elevator. Two floors later, he walked out of the elevator and straight towards Angel's office.  He didn't knock. He just threw open the door a tad harder than he intended. It resulted in a rather spectacular bang. 

Angel looked up from her paperwork. To her credit, she did not ask what was wrong. She had a feeling she already knew. 

"We have to talk." Steve's voice was staccato and showed much less emotion than he felt.

"About what, Steve? There isn't anything you or I can do about the whole situation. This isn't something that can be fixed with a letter from some official somewhere."

"Angel, I don't care. I cannot and will not live the rest of my life based on what might be in my past."

"Well maybe I do care. Maybe I care about you more than you do. Steve, you could be a priest for all we know. How do you think you would feel if all of a sudden you woke up one day to find out you had violated every vow you ever thought sacred."

"I don't think I'm a priest."

"Fine, you're not a priest. What about marriage vows? You could have a distraught wife and seven children looking for their beloved husband and father."

"I could also be a thrice divorced night club owner. I don't care. If I have to cross that bridge, I'll do it when I reach it. I want to be me now. I do not want to end up a lonely old man because of unknown events that I might never remember."

"I do not want to hurt someone you love."

"You already have. I just want you to set it right. If I was any other normal man, would you run away from me and hide?"

"Of course not, I just have never been much of a home wrecker. My family is messed up enough. I don't relish the thought of ruining another family like that."

"First, you don't even know if I have a family. Secondly, did it ever occur to you that if I have a wife, she will probably move on to another guy before I even remember? Thirdly, if I have children, it will take time to readjust to them whether I'm romantically involved or not. Finally, you can't be a home wrecker if there is no home to wreck. I've been gone a long time. I think that it is safe to say that my home is pretty beat up already."

Angel shook her head. "You know, you are the most stubborn man I've ever met. Maybe you were a politician; you certainly argue well enough."

"Does that mean that I have changed your stance on the matter?"

"It does."

"Well then, I think you are the first doctor that ever went with my plan." Steve paused a moment and wondered at his comment. Shrugging he looked back at Angel.

"You want to go get supper? This time I'll buy."

"I'd love supper, but really you should let me buy."

"No way, I work for my paycheck, and I can spend it as I see fit. Besides, think of it as our first official date. As I asked you out, I think it only fair I pay."

"So if I ask you out, I get to pay?"

"Absolutely."

"Well then, let's go."


	10. Chap 10

First chap = disclaimers

Thanks to all my reviewers. I finally got time to write again after I got done with the immediate necessities of real life. Trust me this is much more fun…

Oh, I realized that the thing with Jesse and the video tape (in the previous chapter) kind of contradicts with an earlier chapter. I'll try to fix that later.

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A gentle push switched on the coffee pot in the doctors lounge. In seconds, the aroma of coffee filled Jesse's nostrils. It was bad for him. In fact, it was bad grade coffee and he really shouldn't be wasting his health on it. Still, it would keep him awake which would probably keep him from falling over onto an unsuspecting patient.

A few minutes later, Jesse was vigorously stirring artificial creamer into his coffee.

"Man, this stuff keeps getting worse. You would think I would have killed my taste buds with it by now."

"Actually, I think that it targets specific areas so that the destroyed areas re-grow, thus continuing a never ending cycle of disgust." 

Jesse whirled around at the sound of Mark's voice unaware that he had been talking to anyone but himself. 

"Yeah, well they should start putting warning labels on the stuff. "Harmful to your sanity." No wonder Steve started to like hospital food if the coffee at the station was this bad." Jesse froze for a second. The words had just come out of his mouth. He hadn't even considered how Mark would react to his own son's name being mentioned.

"Relax Jess." Mark said when he noticed the 'deer in the headlights' look Jesse had developed. "I hardly think that you shouldn't be allowed to say his name."

Jesse relaxed a bit and offered Mark a cup of coffee. Mark took it and sipped gingerly at the hot substance. Soon, he was following Jesse's example and dumping artificial creamer into his mug.

"You know, Jess, this stuff is so bad, I think they could use it to kill bacteria."

"Yeah, I can see it now. 'Doctors run out of antiseptic: Use bad coffee instead.'"

It was a stupid thing to say, but Mark chuckled anyway. Soon, Jesse started to giggle next to him. A few more snorts and chuckles later, Jesse was paged and left. Grudgingly, Mark went to refill his mug. Then it hit him. That was the first time he had truly laughed since Steve's death, and oddly he didn't feel guilty. He felt good. With a small smile he toasted Steve with the wretched coffee. Somehow, he knew that his son would approve.

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Steve waited impatiently outside of Angel's door. They had been 'seeing' each other for almost two months now. Three weeks ago, he had passed his drivers test and bought a run down 1989 Ford Taurus. It was rusty, but it ran. And, more importantly, it made him feel normal. Angel had looked at it dubiously, but never said a word about its condition. She had simply gotten in the passenger's door and asked where they were going.

Tonight though, she had asked him out, and due to their dating rules, he knew they would not be seen in his rusty car. He was nervous. It was not like it was their first date, but still, he couldn't help but be nervous when she had asked him how he felt about flying. He had gotten even more suspicious when he had seen Jim taking a bag out of Steve's apartment earlier in the day. It scared Steve. Maybe she was going to send him away. Maybe she thought he should work elsewhere for awhile to make their relationship look respectable.

Her door opened. "You look like I sprouted fangs or something." Angel said when she took in Steve's worried countenance. 

"What? No! I mean, I was just thinking."

"Really? What about?"

"I was wondering what Jim was doing in my apartment earlier today. He was taking out what appeared to be a suitcase. You wouldn't know anything about that would you?"

Angel muttered under her breath before replying. "Jim never could sneak around well. Yes, I do know something about that. I was going to wait until after dinner to tell you, but I suppose I should tell you now."

"Tell me what?" Steve's voice did not tremble, but his face showed his trepidation about what she was going to say.

"I suppose tell is the wrong word. I should say ask. Steve, in our relationship, you have always been the aggressor."

"That isn't true. You asked me out to dinner first."

"Okay, in our _romantic relationship you have always been the aggressor. You initiated our first kiss; you made me face my feelings; you initiated our first date."_

"Yes?" Steve shivered slightly even though they were still indoors. He had a bad feeling she was going to be the one to initiate their first breakup.

"Steve, I love you, and you love me, right?"

"Yes."

"And, we both want a family right?"

"Yes."

"And, we decided that your past doesn't matter and that we would deal with it together should a problem arise, right?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Well, I was thinking that neither of us is getting any younger, and at the very least it will be easier to have children now than later. So, I was thinking that maybe, if you want to, we should get married?"

Steve blinked. Then he blinked again. A grin slowly spread across his face. "If that is a proposal, then I accept."

"Really?"

Steve answered by pulling her against him and kissing her soundly. His left hand fingers gently mussed up her carefully styled hair as his right arm held her close to him. She smiled at him when he let her go.

"When do you want to get married?" Steve asked.

"I was thinking Thursday."

"Thursday? As in this Thursday?"

"Yup, that Thursday." She replied.

"Today is Tuesday."

"Well, see, I don't think that my father is going to be too thrilled with the idea of me marrying the amnesiac groundskeeper. Seems how I do not fancy the idea of having to take two years to swing my family around to my side before I get married, I figure that I should do it afterwards."

"But…"

"I already have the plane tickets for Vegas. We leave tonight at 11:00. We make it there in the early morning, sleep, let Jim waste some money, buy the proper dressing and rings, and get married on Thursday."

"You want to elope?"

"Do you have a better idea? Unless, of course, you want to wait, I mean, I totally understand if you want some time before we actually do it."

"No. No, Thursday is good." Steve answered quickly. 

"Good, then why don't we catch dinner before we catch our plane?"

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Later, as Steve sat on the plane to Las Vegas, he turned what he knew of his life over in his head. Ever since he had fallen in love with Angel, he had felt the urgent need to solidify the relationship. It was almost like he had a terrifying fear that she would wake up and leave him because of his lifestyle. It was stupid. He filled potholes for a living. One couldn't get more mundane than that. Besides, she had started dating him with full knowledge of his situation. It wasn't like he was hiding anything.

She had repeatedly assured him that she had no problem with what he did for a living. In fact she supported his stubbornness in the fact that he didn't sit around and do nothing when he was given the chance.

Still, that hadn't shaken the strange need to make sure she wasn't going to leave him. It wasn't like he had a stalker mentality about it. He wouldn't have taken after her had she decided to break up. It was more of a fear that she would be too afraid to become close. Which was another silly idea, he had nothing in him for her to be afraid of. She knew everything about his past that he remembered.

Steve pushed his inspection of his fear back in his mind. Now was a happy time. He was going to get married. Apparently, Jim had already arranged things with a chapel when they were out to dinner. On Thursday, Jim would witness their marriage in "The Bell Flower Chapel." Of all the things Steve could have asked, his only concern was that the place had never sold ice cream cones. That was another strange thought that he was not about to inspect.

A loud snore from his right distracted Steve's train of thought. Jim twisted in his seat as he dreamed. Steve shook his head and sighed. He didn't think he was going to sleep on this flight with or without his rampant thoughts.

Steve smiled. He was getting married. That was the important thing. Angel's family would be upset, but they had agreed that after her family accepted the idea they would re-marry with the family present and have a real ceremony. It was not the picture perfect scenario, but it was the best they could do. Besides, if Steve was really truthful with himself, he couldn't help but hope that by the time they had the family ceremony, his own family would be there.


	11. Chap 11

First chap = Disclaimers

Thanks for all the reviews. As for the last chapter, I freely admit I sort of rushed along the whole romance plot. I sort of needed to do that because the Non-Steve parts are developing faster and I don't want to tie up loose ends over with Mark, Jesse and Amanda while I'm in the middle of working with Steve.

It isn't the best solution, but hopefully it won't be too bad.

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It was an odd sensation, Steve reflected as he woke up to his wife. He had spent over a year of his life as a man with no past and no family. Now, he had one. Or, at least he had a wife. Not a girlfriend or a significant other. 

He couldn't say that getting married had really solved anything. He still did not have his memory and her family was still not going to like the new development, provided that they even read the letters she sent out. Yet, he felt oddly contented. He had someone who swore to stay with him through his life. It was a vow people took everyday. It was also a vow that people broke everyday, especially in the brightly lit town they had married in.

But, the feeling of not being alone in his struggle, the feeling of having someone who loved him and cared about what happened to him, that filled part of the gaping hole that he carried with him. It allayed the fear that one day all of his memories would come crashing back and sweep him into an ocean of pain without a life vest. She would be with him if and when that ever happened. She had sworn that to him after the ceremony.

Steve's lips twitched in a smile as he recalled the short ceremony. Angel had bought a white dress suit from a local clothing shop. Steve had followed her example by purchasing a fancy business suit. They had agreed to go fairly simple, the big dress and tuxedo could wait until they had the "family" wedding. Angel had carried six long stemmed white roses as her bouquet. Jim had been the best man in charge of their rather simple gold wedding bands. The chapel secretary had been the other witness.

Much to Steve's relief, their wedding official did NOT double as an Elvis impersonator. The wedding had gone smoothly, just done with the basic vows. Their reception had been dinner in a fancy restaurant and a wedding dance with thirty other couples as part of the package deal from the chapel.

Unfocused blue eyes were suddenly scrutinizing Steve's features.

"Hey, there." Steve inwardly rolled his eyes at his trite comment.

"Hello, Mr. MacTyre." Angel smiled as she wrapped her arms around Steve's neck. Steve grinned in response and bent down to kiss her.

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Mark smiled as he entered BBQ Bob's. Friday Night was always busy, so he knew that Jesse would still be there even though they had closed an hour ago.

"Hey, Mark." Jesse called from where he stood behind the counter. "Have a seat, Amanda is already here. She just had to 'visit the ladies room.'"

Mark nodded his acknowledgment. He had to admit, he did not expect Jesse to be this cheerful about what he and Amanda were doing. The police department had actually requested that Mark stay on as a consultant even though Steve was gone. Apparently, they felt he was too much of an asset to let go.

Truthfully, Mark was glad. At first, he had thought that if ever saw another badge in his life, he couldn't handle it. But, after a while, he began to get the old sleuthing itch again. When the chief called to ask his opinion on a case, he had all but jumped at the chance. Of course, he would not be working on the amount of cases that he had with Steve, but they were still gratifying.

In a way, Mark could keep Steve's memory alive by helping the police. 

When Amanda had suggested that they meet at Bob's to go over the autopsy report, Mark had been skeptical. Jesse still had some problems with letting go of Steve and the Homer Garlin case. Mark had not thought it would be a good idea to expose Jesse to another case, but he appeared to be mistaken. Jesse had not only been okay with the idea, he seemed genuinely thrilled that Mark was sleuthing again.

Unbeknownst to Mark, Jesse was more than thrilled with Mark's return to detective work. He was ecstatic. If Mark was going to help the police, he was one step closer to helping Jesse. So, Jesse might have to wheedle away Mark's defenses to get the older doctor to assist, but once Mark was on the bandwagon Amanda would be too. Jesse was sure that among the three of them, they could find Homer Garlin's murderer and remove the blot on Steve's good name.

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Steve closed his eyes and tried to block out the world around him. He was standing outside the house watching the sunset. The day that they had gotten back from the honeymoon, Angel had called her family. It did not go well.

Her father had just about hit the roof when his daughter told him she'd gotten married. He almost died from high blood pressure when he found out the rest of Steve's story. When Angel refused to get a divorce or Annulment, her father had fired Steve. Laughing at that point had not been a wise decision on Steve's part.

His new found father-in-law took a swing at him. Steve had reflexively sung back. Somehow pinning his father-in-law face down on the living room floor had not helped his case.

Angel had yelled at Steve and told him to go elsewhere for a while. Now, after she had checked out her father, she was back to arguing about Steve with him.

Steve shook his head. He had had no idea that his wife could yell so loudly. He hoped that she would forget the little hitting incident by the time he saw her again. Apparently, she had quite the temper when provoked.

A slamming door announced that Steve had company. His blustering father-in-law stalked up to him.

"Well, I don't know how you managed to woo her into actually wanting you, but it won't last. She may be stubborn, but she isn't stupid for long. Mark my words the instant that she dumps you I will make your life living hell."

Before Steve could respond, he strode off to his car and drove away. Steve shook his head and walked back into the house.

Angel looked up at him; her eyes were red rimmed from tears. 

"I knew he was going to overreact, but I didn't think he'd be that bad. I'm sorry that he called you an opportunistic pimp, Steve."

"Hey, 'for better or worse' remember? You get my lack of any family, I get your screwed up one. I think we come up even."

She smiled at him and nodded.

"I love you." 

"Do you really?" Steve's voice took on a teasing tone. "Well, I can think of a couple ways you could prove that affection."

Angel rolled her eyes. "You know, maybe you're just a teenager in disguise."

"Is that an insult or a compliment?"

"Most definitely an insult. You're really not angry about what my father said?"

"Nope, at least I'm not angry with you. Him, I'm angry at, but he said it; you didn't. I knew what I was getting into when I married you the same way you knew about me. I still married you. You still married me."

"We make quite the pair don't we."

"I think we do. You know, I thought I'd never get married. Now that I am, I'm not going to let go that easily." Steve smiled sadly as he spoke. His words reflected his life as he had felt it since he was washed up on the shore, but his mind was protesting that it reflected a greater truth.

His musings were washed away when angel leaned forwards and brushed her lips against his.

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More soon I promise ;)


	12. Chap 12

Okay, I'd like to thank all of my readers for waiting so long for this update.

You are really great!

To make up for my previous lack of an update, I made this chapter longer than normal.

I'd like to note that I've skipped ahead in time to a little over a year after Steve and Angel got married. I had terrible writers block on filling the time between, so I skipped it.

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Steve sulked as he sat outside on the porch. When Angel had announced she was pregnant eight months ago, he had been ecstatic. They had both been thrilled to be adding a new member to "their" family. They were still thrilled, but Steve was not what one would call happy.

Today they had discussed names for their first child. The ultrasound had shown that it would be a boy. They had talked about names in the past, but today they had decided to do it in earnest. It had not gone well.

The only name that Steve liked was Mark. Somehow it had just gotten stuck in his brain as the best. Angel didn't like it.

"Don't you think it's a bit plain? I mean, it is a nice name, but the last person named Mark that I knew had to have been the most boring person in the world." She'd said.

"Mark is a fine name. It's good, sturdy and other kids won't pick on him about it." Steve had rejoined.

"I appreciate the name, but this is our son we're talking about. He should have a special name. Besides, children always find a way to pick on each other."

"Mark is a special name, and you shouldn't be biased to it just because you met a boring guy."

"He was a pimply faced janitor that kept hitting on me all the way through med school."

"Well, that doesn't make him boring to me." Steve retorted.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means that you're being hormonal and overly emotional." Steve snapped back.

Steve rubbed the bridge of his nose. For a woman so very pregnant, Angel had chased him out of the room with surprising dexterity before she slammed the door shut and soundly locked it.

He really shouldn't have made that last remark. He didn't even know why it was so important to him. He just knew that he wanted his son to be 'Mark.' He growled as he scuffed the toe of his boot in the gravel as he began to walk around the grounds.

Almost absently, he noticed that the path was not quite as level as it had been when he was the groundskeeper. Belatedly, that led his mind to the fact that he didn't really have a job. Since he'd been fired for marrying the 'Boss' Daughter,' he had spent his time volunteering at the local shelter, but it didn't quite scratch the itch that he had to be active.

Then, of course, there was the fact that Angel's father only half accepted him. According to Angel, this was a very fast improvement on her father's part. This apparently translated into the idea that, her father was actually trying to accept her choice in a husband. Her mother, on the other hand, had sent a card when she got the wedding announcement and a telegram when Angel announced her pregnancy.

As much as Steve disliked his father-in-law, at least Mr. Thronson had actually had a reaction to his daughter's marriage that reflected concern for her well being. Angel's mother gave the impression her daughter was a little above a telemarketer.

He sighed; he seemed to have a plethora of depressing subjects to think on. He might as well start brooding on his lack of memory and make the day complete.

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Jesse Travis sighed as he plopped down on his couch. Groaning, he reached down to untie his shoes. He swore the shift's he did at Bob's were actually worse than working the ER. An annoying trilling noise broke through the half asleep doctor's senses. His body picked up on the fact that it was the phone and began to move towards it a few seconds before his brain actually notified him of that fact.

"Hello?" Jesse's tired voice asked.

"Hi, Jess." Amanda's irritatingly perky voice responded.

Jesse frowned. He needed sleep. He would never think of Amanda that way if he wasn't already irritated. 

"What is it you want?"

"Oh, I was just calling to make sure you remembered to bring something for show-and-tell tomorrow."

"Show-and-Tell?" Jesse's voice conveyed that he was completely lost.

"Yes. You remember Mark's little project for the sick kids? The one where all the nice doctors bring in something special and talk about it?"

"Oh, yeah. Ummm, it's my turn tomorrow?"

"Yes, it is. You know, Mark didn't think I would have to call you. He said something about you being a mature adult. I told him that any man that owns pajamas with a yellow cartoon sponge on them is not 'mature'."

"Thanks Amanda. Oh, by the way, Sponge Bob is very sophisticated."

"Whatever you say, Jesse."

"Goodnight, Amanda."

" 'Night Jesse."

Jesse hung up the phone and sighed. Resolutely, he stalked over to his closet. He had to find something meaningful and somehow he didn't think the kids would appreciate him bringing in the doctor's lounge coffee pot.

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Steve sighed as her drove the car into town. Angel sat beside him not talking. Things had been tense since the night before. She had barely said goodnight and good morning to him. Now, he was driving her in for her hair appointment. Being pregnant made it uncomfortable to drive, so Steve volunteered to drive her. Normally, it was a much more pleasant drive.

After dropping her off at the salon, he wandered down to the local café to wait for her. The new Chief of Police Bob Lanser waved him over to his table. Steve smiled and walked over. He had gotten to know Lanser well before the man was elected. When Lanser was only a normal officer, he had often spent time working at the same shelter that Steve volunteered at.

"Hey, Bob." Steve greeted."

"Hey, MacTyre. Having problems with the wife?"

"What?" Steve asked incredulous.

"Don't give me that surprised look. You always look droopy when the two of you fight."

Steve smiled at the man's bluntness. "It's nothing that we won't fix as soon as we both quit being stubborn."

"Good, because I've got a favor to ask of you."

"Oh? What is it?"

"Steve, you know that a lot of people go through the shelter that aren't quite on the up and up."

"So?" 

"Well, you're a pretty straightforward, honest type of guy. The regulars at the shelter know you. They trust you as much as they trust anyone, and they might just talk to you. I was wondering how you feel about working with the police department. You know, sort of leaking us information when there's something strange going on."

"Well…"

"You know it will be the best for the people that really need help down there, Steve. If your information helps to keep one bad guy from raping one homeless widow, isn't it worth it?"

Steve smirked. "You sure know how to sweet talk a guy. Alright, as long as Angel doesn't object, you can count me in."

`````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````

Jesse grinned as he walked out of the room full of children. Apparently, the gaudy picture frame that Steve had put around Jesse's favorite picture had pleased the children more than any adult. 

Jesse frowned. It was a cruel irony that this frame was stuck with Jesse for the rest of his life. After Steve's death, Jesse hadn't been able to rid himself of the hideous thing.

Now, he had to pack it back up and put the clunky thing back into his closet. Jesse stopped. He could always hang it up at Bob's. The office needed something… unusual in it.

Jesse whistled as he strolled into his restaurant. Mark and Amanda were at the counter pouring over some autopsy for some homicide that the police asked Mark to help on. They were eating a late lunch as Amanda had worked late the night before and was heading home early, and Mark had the day off.

Jesse waved 'hi' as he headed to the small office. Jesse pulled open a small drawer on his desk. There lay a hammer a few nails and the now cold Homer Garlin file. Jesse fingered the folder and flipped it open to once again stare at the contents. He sighed as he looked at the message the man had scrawled. Why couldn't the guy have just written 'Joe Jones did it.'? Instead he had drawn a stupid square with a dog and an arrow pointing to the outer edge of the square.

It had to mean something significant. Jesse shook his head went to hang up the picture and frame.

A few minutes later, he was grumbling. He could probably stick a whole rack of ribs inside that frame.

Jesse stopped. His eyes dilated. He ran back to the case file. The drawing was just what it appeared to be: a drawing in a frame. And there must be something hidden in that particular picture's frame. Jesse knew from his own investigation that Garlin had been a dog lover. He also knew that there was a very large picture that hung n his old shop walls.

Garlin's son had taken over the family shop after his father's death. The picture was hopefully still hanging there from the last time Jesse had visited.

Jesse bounded out of his office.

Mark looked up. Before him stood a Jesse Travis he hadn't seen in ages: bright, hopeful and hyper.

"Jess?" Mark asked.

Jesse hesitated. He was almost certain about his discovery, but he didn't want Mark's hopes to be crushed. Plus, he was feeling slightly smug about being the one to break the case. Assuming, of course, that his hunch was true. He wanted the moment to himself.

"Hey, I've got to go… shopping for a little bit. I was wondering if I could stop by your place later tonight? I'd kind of like your and Amanda's opinions on my…purchase."

Amanda smiled "Don't you think it's a little early to be buying an engagement ring, Jess? You've only been out on a couple dates."

Jesse laughed nervously. Not knowing what else to say, he said goodbye and bolted for the door.

"Is it just me, or do you wonder how we put up with that level of energy from him before?" Amanda asked.

Mark smiled. "I don't know how we did, but I know that I'd like to find out."

````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````

Steve smiled the first time he held his son in his arms. He was so tiny, so fragile. Angel looked up from the hospital bed and smiled back at Steve. Steve gently laid his son in his mother's arms and stroked the little baby's hand.

His mind went back to the day that they had decided on their son's name. Angel had come up with a compromise that made them both happy. Thus, their son was christened Marcus Jackson MacTyre.


	13. Chap 13

First Chap = disclaimers

Alright, first thanks go to all reviewers and a special thank you to Betty for helping me out.

Secondly, this chapter mainly deals with loose ends on the Jesse, Mark, and Amanda front. Just assume that Steve and Angel are off being parents etc. Then, the next few chapters will finish up the story.

Enjoy!

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Jesse Travis walked slowly into Garlin's old pawn shop. Robert Garlin, Homer's son, looked up from the counter and waved him in. Jesse had visited the shop on several occasions while trying to piece together the murder. 

Apparently, Robert, or Bob as he liked to be called, appreciated the interference of the short doctor. The 'family' was not about to give out any information that they had, but if Jesse wanted to put away the guy that killed Homer Garlin, they weren't going to stop him.

Things, Bob had told Jesse in so many words, had changed in the 'family.' Whoever killed Homer had become somewhat of a dangerous liability to them. He was asking for more and more of the 'action' and was too dangerous to put back in place by normal means.

The thing was, whoever killed Homer covered his tracks very well. The family couldn't send any anonymous evidence to the police because there was no evidence to find. At least, that was what they thought. Jesse, at the moment, was praying otherwise.

"Hey, Bob." Jesse said. His voice was slightly subdued. His earlier excitement had given way to doubts as he had made the drive from BBQ Bob's. What if his hunch was wrong?

"Hey, Doc. What can I do for ya?"

"Umm, well Bob, I was thinking…"

"Hey, I know you, Doc. That's that 'I've gotta crazy idea' tone. Like I've said before, if you've got any idea about Dad's murder, you follow up on it. I'll tell ya if I don't think you should do it."

Jesse grinned at the not so veiled reference about keeping him out of the 'family's way.'

"You know that big picture of the German Shepard that your Dad had hanging in the back?"

"Yeah, sure. What about it?"

"Do you think I could look at its frame?"

"The frame, Doc?"

"Yes."

"Well, it is not one of your more sane questions, but whatever works for ya. I'll go fetch it if you'll watch the front for me."

Jesse nodded and watched as Bob went into the back room. A couple of crashing and scraping sounds and three cuss words later, Bob emerged with the giant picture.

"Man, Dad sure had that picture wedged up there hard. I think he glued the frame to the wall."

Jesse nodded and had Bob lay the picture face down on the counter. He withdrew a Swiss army knife from his pocket and looked at Bob for permission before cutting. After receiving a confirming nod, Jesse cut away the paper backing to reveal absolutely nothing.

Disappointment colored his features. Bob frowned.

"Hey, Doc. Don't be discouraged. So your little theory didn't work out, you'll think of the right one eventually."

Jesse nodded a gloomy head. "I know it's just that I thought I'd finally figured out the mystery."

Jesse sighed as he glanced around the store. Maybe he should do some shopping. After all, the fenced goods were usually kept in the back. All of these items probably came from a legitimate source. He heard the phone begin to ring in the back room.

"Hey, Doc. I need to go take that call. Feel free to look around while I'm gone."

Jesse waved Bob back into the back room and strolled around the store looking at small knick knacks and a couple of floor lamps. Of their own will, his eyes went back to the large picture that sat on the counter. It was a very large picture with an equally huge frame. The frame itself was 7" wide on all four sides and at least 2" deep.

Jesse frowned and walked back over to the picture. The frame was a boxed frame. Whoever had built it had actually put a back on the frame. This meant that there was a hollow space inside of it like a box would have.

Jesse ran his fingers over the back of the frame. His brow furrowed together when he noticed that the bottom section of the frame had been reattached at some point. It had been done well, but one could still see where the original holes had been.

Without delay, Jesse whipped his knife back out and began prying at the nails. Surprisingly, they came out easily, a sure sign that the job had been done it haste. Jesse held his breath as he removed the board. 

Nestled inside the frame lay a copy of _101 Dalmatians_. Jesse's fingers quaked in excitement. He hurriedly pocketed the video tape and place the bottom half of the frame back.

Not wanting to have Bob tip off a possible informant, Jesse dug out his wallet and pulled out $500 in one-hundred dollar bills silently thankful that he had been going to get change for Bob's on his way back.

Bob came out from the back. His eyes quickly strayed to the picture.

"Find something Doc?"

"Yeah, would you believe that your Dad was hoarding cash in there? I found five-hundred bucks in there."

Bob chuckled. "I guess Dad really was a hustler at heart. Sorry you didn't find what you were looking for."

Jesse held back his grin. "That's okay. I'll see you around, Bob."

"Bye, Doc."

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Jesse sat with bated breath in front of his TV screen. When he had pulled out the cassette, he had seen that someone had placed a tab over the recording head so that they could record on the protected cassette. After a couple of minutes of colorful animation, a fuzzy black and white picture took over.

"I warned you not to talk to Sloan, Garlin. But you just didn't listen. You keep talking to that do gooder, and there's no telling what might happen."

Jesse shivered as he heard that voice. He'd always gotten the creeps from Jackson Peters. Now, he knew why.

"I didn't do anything. He asked some questions; I answered them, but none of my answers ratted out anyone. You know being belligerent makes the cops suspicious."

Peters slapped Garlin across his mouth.

"Don't you think I know what you'd love to do? You're too soft to be in this business. You want out. Well, if you want out, I'll give you a one-way ticket. However, I am a reasonable man. Bring me $100,000 dollars down at the pier in three nights, and I'll forget I heard anything."

Garlin nodded mutely. Peters started stalking towards the door.

"Oh, and, Garlin, don't play with Sloan. People around him end up as dead as he should be." 

Jesse expected the tape to end there, but it didn't. Homer Garlin came to stand in front of the video camera.

"If you're watching this, I guess it either means I'm dead or I finally got enough courage to tell. Jackson Peters works for my crime family. He has killed, stolen and cheated his way through life. If I'm dead, well, he did it. He has two lackeys: Sal and Sam.  I've never met them, but I've heard stories and they aren't pretty.

I rigged this tonight so I had proof. Stolen merchandise is good for something. I had to wreck my favorite tape for this. I couldn't find a blank one quick enough, I think Peters saw me fiddling with the video case when he came in. I hope to God he isn't smart enough to figure anything out. Tell my wife and Kids I love them."

Jesse stared at the screen as the picture returned to animated dogs and singing. He'd just solved Homer Garlin's murder and in the process opened up a can of worms.

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Mark was fixing dinner when he heard his front door swing open and footsteps hurry towards the kitchen. For a split second, he thought that it was Steve returning from work. Then reality caught up. He turned to see who it was that had the security code to enter the house.

Jesse popped up in his field of vision.

"Jesse, what on earth is wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong Mark. In fact, something's great. Well, great in a really morbid sense 'cause there's dead people and mobs involved, but…"

"Jesse, calm down. Now, what is this all about?"

"Mark, I have a video to show you."

Mark looked at the video Jesse held. "I hate to break it to you Jess. But I saw that when it first came out in theatres."

"What? Oh, that isn't the tape. Well, it is the tape, but that isn't what's on it."

"Jesse, you aren't making much sense."

"I know, I know. But, once Amanda gets here and we all watch the tape, you'll understand."

"Amanda is coming?" Mark queried.

"Yeah, she should be here in about ten minutes. I'll go get your VCR running."

Mark shook his head at Jesse's antics. He was shaking his head later in disbelief as the end of the segment Homer Garlin had taped.

"I don't believe it." He said in shock.

Amanda bowed her head. "We trusted him. If he killed Mr. Garlin then…"

"Then he probably had Steve killed and framed that poor kid rotting in prison." Jesse finished for her.

"And you were the only one to see it. I'm sorry for doubting you, Jesse." Mark said as he looked at his younger friend.

Jesse smiled. "You were hurting Mark. You wanted the pain to go away. When I hurt, I get suspicious of everyone around me. Who knew having a jerk for a father would pay off?"

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The day Jackson Peters was arrested for the murder of Homer Garlin, Steve and Angel were flying out to the East coast to see her family and have them meet Marcus. The whirlwind of publicity that ensued was barely noticed by the family as the alternately fought with each other and cooed over the baby.

By the time they returned from the trip. Neither particularly cared about following the story on the news. Jim's only comment was that the detective in the sidebar story had cruiseline initials.

The press never showed Steve's picture. It was never necessary for the coverage and Mark wasn't read to let them rifle through snap shots. By the time they got permission to show a picture of the Lieutenant, the trial had begun, and they had other things to report.


	14. Chap 14

Thank you for your patience for the next chapter in this story.  
  
This is a bit of a long chapter, but I hope you will enjoy it. Also, I can't quite remember what happened to Norman, so just assume that he is filling some position. If I missed an episode where he died, just disregard the ep ;) ```````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````` ```````````````````````````````` Mark Sloan stood by his son's memorial stone. The day reflected his mood: partly sunny. Jackson Peters had been convicted of the murder of Homer Garlin yesterday. Steve's name was cleared. As a result of the former police officer's conviction, Steve's murder case was being reinvestigated. Things were looking up for the young man that Jesse never believed had killed Steve.  
  
Still, it was not a great moment of rejoicing. The police did not get any confession out of Peters for his role in Steve's death. They could find no- one who would testify against the man either. It was unsatisfying to say the least.  
  
Mark smiled and ran his hand along the headstone. "You know Steve. In some ways today is going to be the first day I'm truly without you. I think you kept haunting us until your business with Peters was done. Thing is, I think Jesse was the only one that listened to you. It really is too bad. Jesse finally listens to you, and you aren't here to see it."  
  
Mark sighed and patted the headstone much as he would have patted his son's shoulder. "Goodbye Steve." ```````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````` ``````````````````````````````` (4 years later)  
  
Steve looked up from the case that the police chief had given him. Angel stood in the doorway watching him.  
  
"How long have you been standing there?" He asked.  
  
"How long have you been reading that police report?" She rejoined.  
  
Steve smirked at her in return. Helping out the police with the homeless had quickly escalated into helping them out on cases. Eventually, he had taken the examination boards and become an official member of the force even though he was a touch old for it. His tenacity on the reports and cases sometimes drove his wife up the walls.  
  
"Steve." Her voice broke into his thoughts.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"You know how we talked about me moving to another hospital, so I could practice in my actual field?"  
  
Steve nodded. Shortly after their second child had been born two years ago, he had suggested that she actually move into actually being a full time pediatric surgeon instead of just doing it occasionally. At the time, they had decided that they would focus on the children for a while before moving on.  
  
A few weeks ago, Steve had brought up the subject again and Angel had put in some applications.  
  
He smiled. "Did one of them contact you?"  
  
Angel nodded and moved closer to him. "They have an opening at Community General in L.A. They called me at the hospital and asked if I would like to come in for a job interview."  
  
"That's great!"  
  
"Steve, are you sure about this? If I get the position, I'll have to move closer. You'll have to give up your job, and I'm not sure that the LAPD is going to be ecstatic to hire you."  
  
"Thank you for your confidence in me."  
  
"Steve, this is no time to be sarcastic."  
  
"Angel, I know full well that I am not exactly prime employment material. But it is not exactly like we will be destitute if I don't have a job. I can spend my time volunteering like I did before. I can take care of the kids. You deserve to go to an actual hospital."  
  
"What about you?"  
  
"What about me? I deserve to be happy don't I? I want you to have this opportunity. If you're happy, then I'm happy."  
  
"You're certain?"  
  
"Honey, you sound like you don't want to have your dream job. I told you. I will find a way to live my life. Besides, this time I have an actual set of memories to start with." ```````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````` ```````````````````````````` A few days later, Angel was pacing in the hallway of Community General. She couldn't believe how fast the process was moving. What had started out as a simple interview had escalated into an actual gathering of the departments to discuss hiring her.  
  
The previous doctor that held the position had been expelled from the hospital for unethical practices. This meant they had to hire someone to fill that position rather quickly. She just happened to be at the right place at the right time.  
  
The door to the boardroom opened. "You may come in now Doctor." One of the administrators called.  
  
Nervously, Angel went into the room.  
  
The head of the board stood up. "Dr. MacTyre, it is my honor to welcome you to Community General."  
  
Shock ran through her system as she accepted the position. Short though her visit had been, she knew there was nowhere else that had such a friendly atmosphere. She wanted the job, and when she had called Steve earlier, he had agreed she should take the position if offered.  
  
After shaking the hands of those gathered, she moved to leave. Full of energy, she dropped her contract papers on the floor.  
  
"We don't bite you know." A gentle voice said from behind her.  
  
Turning around, Angel saw one of the doctors that had been called to vote on hiring her.  
  
"Dr. Sloan isn't it?"  
  
"Yes, yes, but please, call me Mark. Everyone else does."  
  
"Mark, then."  
  
Mark smiled at her. "I assume that this is quite a shock to you. These things normally take so much time."  
  
"Yes, they haven't even found my replacement yet at my old hospital. My husband is vacillating between saying 'I told you so' and fretting about having to move so quickly."  
  
"Do you have any children?"  
  
"Two. Marcus is five and Laura is going to be two soon."  
  
"One of each, I remember my kids at that age. Carol was an absolute cherub and Steve was an absolute terror."  
  
For a second, the wistful look on Mark's face reminded Angel of when Steve would chase so hard after a memory  
  
"What do your children do? Did they follow in their father's footsteps?"  
  
Mark's face fell.  
  
"Carol turned into a bit of a rebel and followed her own path. Steve followed a fine family tradition and became a police officer." His voice was pitched low.  
  
Angel misinterpreted the wistfulness in his voice. "You don't get to see them often then."  
  
"Carol got into a bad relationship and Steve got on a bad case. They're both dead."  
  
"Oh, I'm so sorry Dr. Sloan. I didn't know. I shouldn't have pushed."  
  
Mark snapped out of his trance. "What? Oh, no don't be silly. I can't blame you for what happened. And I told you, call me Mark."  
  
Angel shifted uncomfortably. "Well, I guess I should go back to my hotel room then."  
  
Mark smiled. "Say, do have plans for tonight? I have a couple of friends I'd like you to meet."  
  
"I wouldn't want to interfere."  
  
"You hardly know anyone here. And you won't be interfering."  
  
"Well, then I suppose I accept."  
  
"Wonderful. Do you like ribs?" `````````````````````````  
  
Angel looked at the three people around her. Mark sat on her right, Amanda on her left. Jesse was leaning on the counter watching her.  
  
"So?" Jesse asked eagerly.  
  
"Dr. Travis I can give you my clinical opinion that these ribs would satisfy even my husband."  
  
"You should bring him in sometime then." Amanda commented.  
  
"I will as soon as we get settled. My father has a friend that we are going to housesit for, for a couple of months. Hopefully, we will have found a house by that time."  
  
Jesse grinned. "Well if your husband needs a job, we're hiring cooks."  
  
"Jesse, my husband can't cook. He made it all the way up to edible pancakes. I think he was born with a retarded cooking gene. The only thing he makes really well is coffee."  
  
Mark chuckled and Amanda smiled. Jesse' grin grew even wider. "Maybe it's the name Steve. Mark's Steve couldn't cook either."  
  
"That he couldn't Jesse." Mark replied "That he couldn't." ```````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````` ``````````````````````````````  
  
Steve took a deep breath as they finished moving the last of the luggage into the house. Once they found a suitable place, they would bring the rest of their belongings, but until then they would just have the basic necessary possessions.  
  
Oddly, Steve had felt incredibly excited by the prospect of moving to LA. When most people wanted to move to a quiet little town as they got older, Steve had had an insatiable urge to go to the traffic congested city.  
  
Angel had already made some friends at the hospital. Steve's jealous streak had been temporarily aroused when she talked about Dr. Travis, but it had been quelled as soon as he found out that the doctor had a girlfriend.  
  
It was a good thing that he had subdued his feelings as she would have to work with Dr. Travis fairly often. The hospital wanted to get her back into the swing of regular surgeries. That meant time in the ER for a while. As Jesse was the head of the ER, that meant that she would be working with him as well as Dr. Sloan.  
  
Steve felt a shiver go through his body. Every time he heard or thought the name Sloan his muscles tensed and his brain seemed to try to focus on something. It felt almost instinctual to be drawn to the name.  
  
"Daddy?" A small voice came from beside Steve. Marcus stood there, his little sister half a step behind him.  
  
"What do you two want?" Steve asked happily.  
  
"Cookie?" Laura asked in her toddler directness.  
  
Steve tried to keep the smile off his face. The two of them really did have timing. They knew that he was easier to get a treat off of than their doctor of a mother. Besides, Steve reasoned, they had had a hard time with moving.  
  
"Sure, sweetheart. In fact, why don't I take the two of you to get ice cream?"  
  
The squealing voices obviously approved of the idea. Steve had one thought as he grabbed his keys. Angel was going to have a fit.  
  
````````````````````````````` "I just don't know what I'm going to do with that man I married. I think he's purposely spoiling those kids." Angel whined as she sat across from Amanda in the cafeteria.  
  
Amanda smiled. "At least they aren't trying to blast away the neighbors with their "music" yet. When are we going to meet this mysterious man of yours anyway? You've been here for four weeks, and we still haven't met him."  
  
"He's coming to the staff party this Saturday. I made him swear that he'd come."  
  
Amanda nodded sagely. "That is a very wise thing to do. I had a husband once. They can be awfully selective sometimes."  
  
Saturday came and Steve Sloan was standing in the lobby of an expensive hotel. Community General had decided to rent out a ballroom to greet all of the new staff of the year. He had arrived early only to receive a call from Angel saying that she had to work late in the ER but would be over soon.  
  
That left him with the option of going into the room or waiting for her in the lobby. He sighed as he adjusted the tie around his neck. Why did they have to have it be a formal party? And why was he still standing out in a hallway when he could just go into and at least get something to drink?  
  
If he was honest with himself, he really did not want to set foot in that room. The stories Angel had told him had all been positive. Actual experience seemed to point otherwise. Steve had lost count of how many people stared at him as he waited. The vast majority had gone into the Community General room.  
  
It was weird. Oh, not all of them had shot him funny looks, but enough had. When one of the old nurses had quaked and paled, he had nearly run for the door. Only the thought of what his wife would do to him kept him nailed to his spot.  
  
He fiddled with his watch and saw that only three minutes had passed since he last checked. Another couple passed him and started furiously whispering. Groaning, Steve made himself enter the party before he ran away.  
  
Thankfully, the man at the sign in table seemed appeared sane. Steve looked dubiously at the bright yellow name tag he was given and promptly slapped it on his lapel confident that everyone else looked as ridiculous as he did. He smiled nicely at a couple of people and made his way to the refreshment stand.  
  
As much as he wanted a drink at the moment, he ordered a club soda. A short man bumped into him in line.  
  
"Excuse me." The shorter man said nervously.  
  
"That's okay." Steve replied as he looked over.  
  
The short man's mouth opened and closed a couple of times. "Steve?" He croaked out.  
  
Steve eyed the man and read his name tag. "Norman?" he replied. "Y.y.yo.o.u.rr.."  
  
Steve glanced around to see if anyone noticed the two of them. This settled it, Angel wasn't working at a hospital; she was working at a mental hospital. He took his soda from the bartender and handed it to Norman.  
  
"Here, drink this quickly, and then go sit down. There are a lot of doctors here. They should be able to help you."  
  
Steve moved as fast as he could away from the stuttering figure. Resolutely, he began to form a plan to talk Angel into leaving as soon as possible.  
  
Mark smiled as he and Amanda waded through the crowd.  
  
"Did Norman look funny to you when we passed his table Amanda?"  
  
"Now that you mention it, he looked a bit pale. Maybe we should check on him later. Mark, why don't you go find our table, and I'll go get us something to drink."  
  
Mark nodded as they separated.  
  
Steve sat at his table thrumming his fingers on its surface. Dr. Sloan had arranged for Angel's new friends to sit together as the three of them seemed anxious to meet Steve. Hopefully, they weren't quite as whacko as that Norman guy.  
  
Maybe Norman was a favorite patient; Steve mused. Maybe he was some guy that just signed in under someone else's name.  
  
Mark saw that there was someone sitting at his table as he approached. His back was to Mark, but he could tell that it was a man. His stature told Mark that it wasn't Jesse. That meant that it was Angel's husband seated at the table.  
  
Mark put on his friendly smile and prepared to introduce himself when the figure turned in his direction. His heart stopped. All blood left his head, and he swore that his ears weren't just ringing; they were playing a song.  
  
"Steve?" He had already formed the word, so it came out halfway normal.  
  
Steve smiled, stood, and extended his hand recognizing Dr. Sloan from Angel's description. His hand was grasped firmly by Mark. Before Steve could utter his own greeting, he found himself enveloped in a hug.  
  
"Oh, God, Steve!" Marks voice quaked.  
  
That settled it. Everyone at this party was nuts. Steve's hands settled on Mark's shoulders and gently began to push him away. "Dr. Sloan." Steve began uncomfortably. His eyes locked with Mark's tear filled ones.  
  
Several images of those same eyes filled his mind's eye. The lines on his face juxtaposed themselves on hundreds of other images all popping into his consciousness at once. Bewilderment flooded his mind quickly replaced with pain. His father stood before him.  
  
His father stood before him, and his father hadn't even tried to find him. He knew his dad. He could find anyone and solve any crime. That man had saved countless lives, but he couldn't even save his son's. Pain was replaced with anger.  
  
All of a sudden, the room felt small. Steve could feel his anger building. He needed to leave before he did anything rash. He turned on his heel and left.  
  
"Steve!" Mark's voice followed him as he drove his way through the crowd. People were staring now, but Steve kept on moving. He reached the hallway and started moving towards the check-in to retrieve his coat. Mark came up beside him while the clerk went looking for it.  
  
"Steve."  
  
"Don't" Steve ground out. "Don't even start. Don't say anything at all. I don't think you'll enjoy your party if I hit you."  
  
"What?" Mark's voice was filled with pain and confusion.  
  
"What? You have to ask what?" Steve's voiced pounded in fury. "My genius father cares more about the lives of strangers than his own son? Do you have any idea what sort of hell I've been in? Do you know what living without your memory is like? Do you know what its like to have people treat you like you're a disease?"  
  
Steve jerked his coat away from the attendant and rushed out of the building before Mark could reply.  
  
Soft steps sounded beside Marka few moments later. He glanced up to see Amanda approach. He said nothing as she led him over to one of the chairs.  
  
"Hey what happened?" Jesse's voice bounced over. "I was signing in when a big commotion got started."  
  
"That's what I'd like to know." Angel's voice was oddly cold as she approached the group. "I've never seen my husband that livid. Apparently, he had a disagreement with Dr. Sloan."  
  
"Your husband?" Mark said. Somewhere in his shell-shocked brain he had made the connection, but it didn't seem real.  
  
"Yes, he was running very quickly out as I was coming in. All he said was that I should 'Ask Dr. Sloan.'"  
  
"Mark?" Amanda prompted. She was just as confused as the other two. She had returned to the table only to see Mark's back as he ran out into the hallway. She had heard his voice earlier, but she couldn't make out the words over the din of the crowd.  
  
"Steve."  
  
"What about him." Amanda gently pried.  
  
"No, you don't understand. That was Steve."  
  
Recognition dawned on Jesse's face a few seconds before Amanda.  
  
"You mean Steve, Steve?" Jesse croaked.  
  
"That's impossible." Amanda intoned.  
  
"What's impossible?" Angel's voice snapped as her patience grew thin.  
  
Mark looked at his newly formed daughter-in-law. "I think you better sit down. This could be quite a shock." 


	15. Chap 15

Thanks for the reviews.  I wasn't going to write this chapter quite so soon as I have tons of projects going in the "real world." But, I just couldn't help myself.

Tracy: No, I don't mind that you thought the last chap should be in two parts. I was actually going to split it up, but it was about 1 am when I finished it, and I was just feeling too lazy to.

Alf & C.T. Torris: Thanks for the input on Norman. I do remember the bomb thing now that you mention it. I'm just glad I didn't miss an explanation of what happened to him. 

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Steve ran an angered fist through his hair. His whole life had changed in a span of mere minutes. Once again life had thrown him a curve ball.

He had been too upset to go back to the house. There was no need to upset the children, and they had a babysitter, so he had just started driving. He had not been surprised when he ended up at the beach.

The water was, after all, what many of his life's major experiences centered around. He'd lived on the beach with his dad. He had been attacked on a pier. He had almost drowned in the ocean. That same ocean had carried him to his new life after beating the first one out of his mind.

Steve stopped his angry stalk along the shore line to stare out at the waves. He remembered days when he'd gone surfing with Jesse out on that same water. It had always held such comfort for him before. Then, after his amnesia, it had held the mysteries of his life.

All it held now was the sounds of uncertainty.

Absently, his eyes traveled along the sand. If he kept walking, he would reach his father's house after about a mile and a half.

Hurt welled up to regain its position as dominant feeling. Even though he hadn't remembered his father, he had missed him. In some way, he had still held on to the bond they shared.

His father, apparently, had not. 

Oh, he supposed Peters had lied pretty well to all of them once Peters had removed Steve from the scene. Still, his father had proved a man innocent when no-one else believed him. Mark Sloan had beaten impossible odds over and over again. He had always found the loophole.

For the first time in his entire life, Steve questioned his father's love.

As tears started to well up in his eyes, Steve tugged his bow tie out of its knot. He pulled it loose and fingered the material. There was a time that he had protested wearing any sort of fancy suit. Now, he was wearing a designer original, compliments of his father-in-law. The irony did not escape him.

He had somehow turned out to be something worse than an amnesiac. He was a homicide investigator. Or, rather, he _was _a homicide investigator.

Ruefully, he kicked the sand and slumped down into a small dune.

"You know, I should have bet money on where you were."

Blue eyes flickered to the shorter man that had just deposited himself next to Steve. 

Jesse sent a hesitant grin back, and Steve went back to glaring at the ocean. Jesse saw his jaw set in the infamous Steve Sloan clench.

"Steve."

"Don't Jesse."

"You don't even know what I was going to say."

"I believe it was going to be something along the lines of 'Why don't you go talk to Mark?'"

Jesse flinched at the sound of Steve calling his father by his first name.

"Actually, I was going to say 'I missed you' first."

Steve laughed humorlessly. "You know Jess, I think you're a better man than I am."

"Me? Nah, I don't think I could stand to live with that wife of yours."

"Angel? Why, what'd she do?"

"Well, Mark gave her the short story about what happened."

"And?"

"First, she got pissed at Mark for not searching harder. Then she was angry with you for running off. She started getting a touch loud in the lobby when Norman came up and suggested that her behavior was unbecoming a doctor of Community General."

"What did she do?"

"She told him to go do something that even a first year medical student knows is anatomically impossible. Amanda took her to her car before Norman had her fired on the spot. Then I took Mark home. I still don't think Norman has a clue to what is going on."

"I'm not so sure that he doesn't. I ran into him at the bar before I saw Dad."

"I think you're giving Norman a bit too much credit there buddy."

"Yeah, you're probably right."

A short silence prevailed.

"So…" Jesse began.

"I can't Jess. You and Amanda had lives. You were good on cases, but you weren't my father. You don't understand."

"You're right. I don't understand. Steve, my father really didn't care about me. He did push me out of his life. Mark would never do that to you. If he had had the slimmest of hopes you were still alive, he would never have rested until you came home."

Steve sighed and stood up. "I can't deal with this right now. I'm gonna go back to the house. I'll be in touch."

Jesse watched helpless as his newly returned best friend walked away. He had been returned, but only Steve could decide when he would come home.

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Angel was waiting for him when he got back.

"Hi" He said uncertainly.

"You want to give me you version of the story?" She asked.

"Feeling a touch blunt tonight?"

"Don't get snippy with me Steve."

"I can snippy if I want to. I case they didn't tell you, you made the mistake of marrying a cop. We aren't exactly high on the class scale."

"Where is this coming from? I didn't do anything to you. You've been trying to regain your memory for years, and now all you can be is a jerk."

"You're taking my father's side?"

"I didn't know there were sides. This is supposed to be a happy occasion. You appear to be the apple of your father's eye, and you find this a problem?"

"You wouldn't understand."

"Hey, I'm the one with the whacko father. You are the one with the loving family. Steve, I was envious of that group when I got to know them. You have a first class ticket into familial happiness, and you want to throw it away?"

"I already have a family."

"Yes, you do. But that doesn't mean it shouldn't be larger."

"I can't deal with this right now. Goodnight, Angel." Steve started to move away.

"Steve! For heavens sake, do you really not want your father to know his own grandchildren?"

Steve stopped in his tracks for a second, and then kept moving. A few moments later she heard the spare bedroom door slam shut.

"Bastard." She huffed. Then she moved to her own bedroom. 

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Mark sat in the doctor's lounge the next day swirling his remaining coffee around and around in his coffee cup. Amanda sat next to him and Jesse across. 

"Mark,' Amanda began, 'I'm sure he's going to come around. This is all quite a shock."

"I'm not so sure Amanda. He's been gone for so long, and it isn't like he doesn't have a right to be angry."

"A right?" Jesse intoned. "Mark you would do anything for him. You know that. He knows that. He's just being…"

"Stubborn.' Amanda finished. "Actually, it's a good sign. Steve equals stubborn. And a stubborn Steve is just a Steve that is protecting someone he loves."

Jesse switched his gaze from Mark to Amanda. "Thank you Dr. Amanda Freud."

"She's right Jesse. Steve is only like this when he is protecting someone else. But who does he think he is protecting?"

Amanda smiled. "Isn't that fairly obvious?"

Two blank stares answered her question.

"Men." She muttered under her breath. "I suppose you two have totally forgotten that Angel has two children? Two children whose father's name is Steve. The same Steve that is our Steve?"

"Way to go with the confusing sentences today." Jesse quipped.

Mark frowned. "Steve is protecting his children from me?"

"Not originally, but he probably doesn't want to upset their lives like his has been."

"So, what do we do then?" Jesse asked.

"We do the only thing we can do. We let Steve figure this out. It is either that, or we shoot him, drag him to the ER and make him listen." Mark said.

Jesse nodded. "That is how it used to work. Isn't it?"

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Steve sighed. It was now officially midnight, and he couldn't sleep. Angel hadn't said a word to him when she had gotten home from the hospital. He had not had the courage to ask her if she had seen Jesse, Amanda or his father.

Instead, the four of them had eaten and not talked. Once the children had been put to bed, Angel had wandered off to work on paper work. Then she had gone to bed. Steve had resigned himself back to the guest bedroom.

Rain pulsed outside of the window and a flash of lightening illuminated Steve's room.

The anger had left about midday that day. He was haunted by what Angel had said about the children not knowing their grandfather. He didn't want to upset the life he had remade, but it was inevitable. He couldn't keep hiding.

With that decision made, all that was left of yesterday's emotions was pain; pain that came from the fact that he was separated from his father.

Unfortunately for Steve's pride, there was only one way to fix that problem. He swung his legs out of bed, put on his jogging suit, and grabbed his car keys. If he couldn't sleep, then his father wasn't sleeping either.

Resolutely, he marched out into the rain.


	16. Chap16

First chap = disclaimers

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Steve Sloan muttered a curse as his car sputtered and died. It figured. It just plain figured. He was half a mile from his father's house, and Angel's stupid sports car dies. It just had to be raining too. Now he remembered why he loved that truck so much.

He had two options, he could call for help or he could just walk the rest of the way to his old home. A flash of lightening illuminated the rolling water of the ocean as Steve contemplated his choices.

He'd acted fairly dense in the whole situation so far. Why not complete the cycle? Pulling his jacket snug around his body, Steve lunged out of the car, locked it, and proceeded to jog the rest of the distance.

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Mark sighed as he turned in his bed for the hundredth time. It was so hard being shut out of Steve's life. When Carol had left Steve had stayed. They had become inseparable emotionally. Now, Steve hated him.

Doubts about so many things had started to crowd Mark's mind. Maybe he should have known that Steve was alive. Maybe Steve never would talk to him again. Maybe he was just an old fool to even hope for happiness.

Mark grumbled as the pounding rain became louder against his window. It was a night like this that had taken Steve from him. It was not helping to make him feel any better.

Meanwhile, Steve stood down at the front door completely drenched. He'd lost count of the number of times he'd pounded on the door. Apparently, his father was not just asleep, he had also gone deaf. 

Steve glanced around. None of the neighbors would be up at this time in the morning. He had left his cell phone in the car, and he was not about to sprint back to retrieve it. A stone near his feet caught his attention.

"Ah, Dad. You really know better." Steve stooped and picked up the "stone." A couple of twists later, a key and a security number fell out. "We're going to have a serious discussion about this." He said as he opened the front door.

Mark's eyes snapped open at the sound of the door banging shut. He knew the doors were locked, so the wind had not done it. Jesse or Amanda would have called up to him by now. That meant one thing. There was an intruder in the house.

Mark was not exactly the brawn in a struggle, but it was a good guess that whoever it was had already cut the phone lines. That person was also likely to be able to chase and subdue an elderly doctor. That left one option.

Mark gingerly gripped the four iron that was propped up in his clothes closet. Silently he crept down the stairs. The intruder was moving. It sounded like he was going from the bathroom to the kitchen. Mark would give him credit. He was very quiet.

Mark could see that the kitchen light was on. Apparently, the intruder preferred the risk of light to the risk of noise. Mark slid against the wall next to the doorway to the kitchen.

He could here the figure moving within, and he could smell coffee?

Wonderful, he could always attract the strange ones. He tensed. The intruder was moving closer to him. Mark took a deep breath and whirled into the kitchen bringing his golf club down upon a set of wet, broad shoulders.

"Owww! Couldn't you have just made me grovel?"

"Steve?" Mark asked in disbelief as the club dropped from his hands.

"Yeah, well who else would be skulking around your home at one thirty in the morning?"

"You're here." The astonishment showed in his face.

"I know that Dad."

"You're really here."

"I think we established that when you connected that club with my back."

"You're wet." Mark's shock filled brain registered as he spoke.

"Are you okay, Dad? I mean, maybe you should sit down and rest."

"Steve!" Mark's eyes filled with tears as he wrapped his son in a bear hug.

Steve's own eyes got misty as he returned the favor. "I missed you, Dad. I don't know how, but I did."

"You're back. You truly are back." Mark smiled as he pushed Steve away. "And you're soaking. We need to get you out of those clothes before you catch something."

"You know, that's what Angel says when she… Um, never mind. I'm fine."

"No, you are most certainly not. A few towels aren't going to help. You need to be in dry clothes."

"Dad, I am not going to putter around in your bath robe, and your other clothes won't fit."

Mark motioned him to follow. "You know Steve, your vocabulary has changed. Skulking? Putter? Those aren't your normal fare."

"Blame it on all those fancy meetings I get to be ornamental at."

They began to head down the steps to Steve's old apartment.

"Don't like doctor's conferences?" Mark asked.

"No, I don't like fashion parties. You get all trussed up in the latest monkey suit and listen to people gossip about how fat the latest anorexic model is."

Mark's brow furrowed. "Fashion parties?"

Steve chuckled. "I assume that you don't know who Angel's father is."

 "I think there are a lot of things I'm going to have to learn. However, if you can still stand the bland designs, your old clothes are over there." Mark said as he flipped the light switch on.

Steve turned around in wonder. "Um, Dad. You realize that this is a touch creepy. Everything is in the same place as it was six years ago."

"Oh, not everything, but most of it is. I couldn't bear to part with what I had left of you."

"I'm so sorry. I've been a real jerk haven't I?"

"Steve, someday you will understand how I feel about you. Why do you think I forgave Carol so easily? You were both my children. Nothing could change that."

Steve laughed. "I'd hate to break it to you, but I already know how you feel. I've got two kids remember?"

Mark's face lit up. "That's right. All the more reason for you to change. You don't need to be passing a cold onto your children. Now hurry up. I'll go make us a snack."

Steve shrugged and pulled out an old pair of blue jeans and a shirt. He breathed a sigh of relief when they still fit. Hanging around those fashion gurus had paid of after all.

He headed up the stairs to the smell of cookies baking.

He wandered barefoot into the kitchen. "That was pretty fast to whip up cookie batter."

"I made it earlier when I couldn't sleep. Then I decided I was too distracted to bake, so I put it in the fridge."

Steve nodded as he poured himself a cup of coffee. He looked at his father. "So, where do you want me to start?"

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Angel groaned as she rubbed her temples. Getting paged at four am had not been a blessing. She had practically run out of the house, jumped in her car and driven half way to Community General before she had had a lucid thought. At least she had remembered not to grab the sports car. That one really needed to go in for a tune up.

She sat in the doctor's lounge across from Jesse. He had been on duty when the ER gotten a two car collision. One of the victims was a five-year old girl. Angel had been called to operate.

Now, both she and Jesse were exhausted. Amanda was making small talk, but none of them were exactly chipper.

Mark smiled as he entered the lounge. He'd driven Steve to his house at six that morning. Then driven back to the beach house to freshen up and go to work. He had not slept a wink, but felt better than he had in ages. Steve had promised to bring the kids by as soon as they were awake.

He hummed a jaunty tune as he reached for the sludge machine, as Jesse had dubbed the coffee pot.

He turned around. "You two don't look so good." He remarked looking at Jesse and Angel.

"We just spent six hours in the ER. There was a car crash." Jesse replied.

Mark winced as he realized that his grandchildren had been left alone. Hopefully, they had not woken up for the time their mother left to the time their father had gotten home.

Steve, on the other hand, had already gotten over the shock of his children being alone. He was in a totally different dilemma. He was attempting to force himself out of his rental car and into the front doors of Community General.

Marcus and Laura were staring innocently at their father as he tried to summon courage.

"Aren't we gonna go in?" Marcus asked from the back seat.

Steve nodded and pushed himself out of the driver's seat to open the back doors so the kids could get out. Grasping each child's hand with one of his own, he marched through the doors.


	17. Chap 17

First chap = disclaimers

Tracy: I'm glad you liked the last chapter. I was concerned about it being mushy instead of believable. I'm glad it worked out. Which of your fics will my "stolen" idea be in?

There will be one more chapter after this. BTW, I realize that this next part is a touch far fetched.

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Steve walked with as much projected calm as he could while carrying one child on his hip and holding the other by the hand. People were staring again. His father must not have spread the news around. Plastering on a smile, head went to the front desk.

"Excuse me, could you tell me where Dr. Sloan is?"

The nurse, thankfully, did not know him. "May I ask the nature of your visit?"

"Personal business, he asked me to come by."

"Ah, may I have your name?"

"Steve Sl.. MacTyre." Steve was amazed at how easily he had reverted to his true name, but he thought the nurse would be a touch suspicious if he used his given name.

"He's busy right now, why don't you go wait over there."

Steve bit back his retort and moved off. Fighting with the nurse would not solve anything. He waited for a few seconds until her back was turned. Then he quickly picked up both children and swept past the desk.

Gingerly he set the kids down again and began moving towards the doctor's lounge. One of the doctors should know where his Dad was at.

Mark, meanwhile, was being highly annoying to the other three doctors gathered in the lounge. His chipper attitude was annoying to the sleep deprived surgeons and was grating on Amanda who was in a bad mood due to the fact that CJ had decided to go into a rebellious phase and dye his hair green.

"I remember when having green hair was a bad thing. Now it's a status symbol." Amanda complained.

"Too bad it wasn't a status symbol when Jesse played that prank on me." Steve's voice came from the hallway.

Three doctors jumped at the voice. Mark merely beamed.

"What are you doing here?" Jesse inquired.

"I'm making a special delivery to a Doctor Sloan." Steve came into the lounge followed closely by two children. Mark and Amanda immediately melted into adoring smiles. Jesse adopted a confused look and Angel just stared, bewildered at her husband's sudden turnaround.

"Those are yours?" Jesse asked.

"No, Jess I just picked them up off the street. Of course their mine."

Mark knelt slowly down to be more at eye level with his grandchildren.

"Hi, what are your names?" He asked.

Marcus lifted a stubborn chin and did not respond. 

"I'm Lauwa." Steve's little girl replied in a tiny voice.

"Daddy said not to talk to strangers." Marcus quickly corrected his sister.

Mark's face flinched slightly before Steve knelt beside his father and children.

"It's okay Marcus. This is your grandfather, Mark."

Marcus eyed the elderly man. "You're not gonna dress me funny are you? My other Grampa does."

Mark chuckled. "No, no. Would you like to see a trick?"

Steve glanced at his father. He should have known his dad would be prepared to win the kids over. He probably had his entire prop collection with.

As Mark began to make a scarf "disappear" Steve rose from the floor. Amanda had moved over to Angel and was whispering something that sounded close enough to "adorable" to cause Steve not to join them. He loved his children, but he learned quickly that "women's talk" about children rarely appreciated a man's view.

Jesse was grinning at him. "You realize that Mark's going to spoil them rotten don't you?"

Steve nodded. "I think it runs in the family. Angel accuses me of doing the same thing."

"So, where'd you get the name 'Lauwa' from."

"Oh, very funny Jess. Make fun of a two-year-old's diction."

"Hey, I'm allowed. Amanda says I'm barely three emotionally."

The sound of laughter cut into the conversation ad Mark finished his third trick. As Mark began to rise, Steve helped him up.

"I'm definitely not as young as I used to be." Mark commented.

"Are you going to tell us why you had a change of heart?" Angel asked as she moved over.

"Yes, he is," Mark answered "but he has to go down to the Station first. There is the slight problem of him being officially dead. And I am going to spend the rest of the afternoon taking care of my grandchildren. Then we can all meet at Bob's around 3:30 and discuss everything."

Amanda smiled. "You two didn't have this planned by any chance did you?"

"Why Amanda, whatever makes you think that?" Mark said as he innocently smiled back.

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Steve Sloan stood gazing at the front doors of the LAPD. He had thought that going to see his Dad was hard. He had thought that going to Community General had been hard. This was somehow worse. He had to convince himself to go into his one time second home.

It wasn't working. That building had been his entire life. Now he was just another civilian. Still, he wouldn't be able to have much of a life if he did not go in there.

Taking a deep breath, he trudged up the stairs.

His father had not called the police because of how Steve had first reacted. He had not wanted Steve to become more agitated by the added stress of being declared alive. Granted, Steve could probably have just gone to a judge to be re-declared alive, but there was a small matter of changing the status his supposed homicide.

It was just his luck. There was a line, a big line. He'd probably be there for four hours before they even called his name. Involuntarily, his eyes drifted to a staircase. That staircase led to the second floor. A few more twist and turns, and he would be in the homicide department.

Without thinking, he began to move in the direction of that staircase. The officers did not stop him mainly because they did not see him leave due to all of the people milling around.

A couple of minutes later, he was standing outside the door of the homicide department. It was logical he tried to convince himself. He wasn't dead. The police thought he'd been murdered. Why not just inform the Homicide department himself?

"Hey buddy, could you open that door for me?" A uniformed police officer shouted as he trudged along carrying a large box of what was probably donuts.

Steve obliged and found himself following the officer into the room. His stomach clenched at the number of people he recognized. He moved through the department quickly without being noticed. Then he arrived outside the captain's door.

The door was cracked open and he could see his former partner being chewed out.

"What is it with you Lieutenant? Your paper skills have all of a sudden become as awful as Sloan's ever were."

Steve chuckled.

"With all due respect Captain, I do not believe they could ever be that bad."

Steve frowned. Was there no respect for the dead?

"That is no excuse! At least Sloan was able to bring in some perps. When was the last time you made any progress on ANY of your cases? Do you know how hard my butt is being chewed for our numbers? We need results!"

Steve glanced behind him and saw a small crowd gathering around to listen at the door. A beleaguered officer pushed his way through the group. 

"Excuse me, I have to get this to the captain." The harried man pushed open the door and gave the captain a stack of papers. The man handed over the documents and turned to leave.

The captain's head shot up. "Anderson, this is the wrong…" He trailed off as his eyes settled on Steve. Blood drained from his face. He swayed on his feet. 

"Captain, are you alright?" Cheryl asked.

Steve swallowed and walked into the office. "I don't think he is."

"Sloan!" he croaked. 

Cheryl turned around. "Steve? But you're…"

"I'm here to correct a couple of mistakes on my file."

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As Steve wandered into Bob's at 3:45 his mind whirled around him. In a daze he went over to the table where his family sat.

"Things not go well at the precinct?" Angel asked.

"Actually, it went really well. They offered me my job back. Apparently they're willing to take me back because I was a junior officer while I was Stephen MacTyre. They're going to put me onto some cold cases at first. They want to make sure I can handle any higher stress levels before they give me something else."

"Cold cases seem high stress enough." Angel observed.

Jesse laughed. "Those cases are pretty low key given Steve's previous life as a cop."

"Well, I guess that saves you from job searching." Amanda noted.

Steve nodded. "That leaves me with one more thing I need to do today."

"What's that?" Mark asked.

"Angel, honey, how do you feel about the last name Sloan?"


	18. Chap 18

First Chap = Disclaimers

Alright, this is the last chapter. Fair warning: It is basically fluffy nothingness that ties up loose ends.

I would like to thank all of my reviewers for their support.

Many thanks to Betty for offering suggestions when I was stuck.

Thanks also to Tracy for her constructive criticism and all others who helped me out on certain points.

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Steve looked at the beach as he nervously straightened his tie. Once he had gotten back on the force and settled back in with his life, he and Angel had decided it was time to complete their promise to have an actual wedding.

Surprisingly, his father-in-law had been thrilled to find out that Steve had regained his memory. He was not excited about the fact that Steve was a cop, but the fact that Steve's dad was a doctor eased that particular sting.

What originally started out as a small family wedding had grown rather quickly. Once Steve had invited the necessary people from the hospital and LAPD, Angel had to give into inviting more people that her father knew in order to balance out the sides of the church.

Thankfully, Mr. Thronson had stayed traditional and insisted on paying for the whole thing. He had also insisted on all of the bridal wear being top of the line.

Steve didn't think that he would ever forget the look on Jesse's face when he had to go in for his tuxedo fitting. Jesse had looked absolutely petrified at the sheer number of tailors who tsked his figure and talked in broken English.

Steve looked in the mirror. He had to admit, the tux was absolutely perfect.

Mark had insisted on having the reception at the Beach House. After considering the guest list, it was decided that having the reception on the beach would be better.

"You know, hiding from your guests is usually considered rude."

Steve turned at the sound of his father's voice. "I didn't think I could stand much more of attempted conversations from guys on the force trying to ask out models without breaking out into laughter."

Mark chuckled. "I was personally avoiding listening to Norman trying to impress your in-laws."

Steve shuddered at the imagined conversation. "I don't know whether to feel sorry for Norman or my in-laws."

"Yes, I noticed that they are quite…colorful."

Steve rolled his eyes in response. "Why do I have the feeling you aren't just talking about their clothes?"

"Maybe because CJ and Dion came up to me a pledged an oath that they wouldn't let my grandchildren turn out like the other side of the family?"

"Laugh all you want gentlemen. At least my family doesn't have a tendency for dead bodies popping up." Angel said as she swept into the house.

Steve smiled. "I take it that this is my cue to go back out there?"

"No, it is an order."

"Coming Dad?" Steve asked as he left.

"In a minute." Mark responded He lets his eyes drift onto the scene outdoors. His life had always had drastic changes in it. This time, it was finally a good change. 

With a smile, he opened a drawer and retrieved a key before going back outside.

Jesse was shoving another piece of cake into his mouth as he conversed with another associate of Mr. Thronson. He couldn't believe that people were just giving food away.

He felt a gentle tap on his shoulder. "Hey Jess, do you know where to reception table is? It just dawned on me that there isn't a gift table around here." Steve eyed his friend suspiciously.

Jesse grinned in response. "Would your Best Man do something like that to you?"

"Yes, he would. In fact he would probably do it with the help of my wife's Matron of Honor and the Father of the groom."

"Actually, we had a lot more help than that." Jesse waved Mark over to the table.

Mark smiled as he joined them. "He finally asked?"

"Yep."

Mark mirrored Jesse's grin. "I think I should go make an announcement."

Mark moved quickly over to the small microphone that had been set up on his deck.

"Attention ladies and Gentlemen. It is my pleasure to give the newly wed couple their first present. With the help of my fellow father, we have purchased what we believe is the perfect wedding present."

Steve stared at his father as Mark came down the steps and over to the 'happy couple.' 

Mark smiled as he dropped the key in his son's hand.

"Dad, this is a house key."

"I know."

"Mark, we couldn't possibly…" Angel began.

"Oh yes you can young lady." Her father interrupted. "Mark and I decided that you two have been through enough. Besides I think that a doctor and a fashion mogul can afford a small thing like a house."

Steve accepted the key in defeat. "Where is it?"

Mark smiled. "There." His hand pointed in a backward direction right next door to his own house. "I was going to give you my house, but Amanda thought you wouldn't stand for it. So, we got the next best thing."

Steve hugged his father while Angel hugged hers. After they had switched, he grabbed her hand and tugged her up to their new house. Gallantly, he swept her up and across the threshold.

"I think that I have everything I ever wanted now." He said as her set her back down on her feet.

Angel nodded as he brushed his lips against hers. Her eyes reflected his happiness as she turned around in their foyer. 

"Steve, what is that?"

Steve turned around and gazed in the direction she was pointing.

"JESSE!" He growled.

There on his wall hung the picture he'd given Jesse so long ago: complete with the horrid frame. Beneath it hung a note:

"Welcome Home."

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THE END


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